[He pulls back his hand, trailing it along the underside of her palm before dropping it to his side. He has this strange, unpleasant feeling that he is trying to ignore. It's quite uncomfortable, leading him to turn away, looking up at the nearby roof and the overhead sky.] If there's another me, in another time or place, maybe he's still a good man. The type who really could love a woman like you.
[He doesn't look back to her, not immediately. And the glance doesn't linger as he turns the rest of the way away. He's not that man, and he'll never be, even if just now he felt particularly human. "Destroy" doesn't have to be so literal.]