Marian remained lying on the bed, her arms still where he'd let them go and her hands curled into fists.
No. She couldn't risk it. Because even if there was only a ten percent chance he was telling the truth, that was still ten percent. She turned her gaze from the roof and looked at him, "I hate you," she told him simply, tired and frustrated and lost and lonely and-
Marian burst into tears, putting a hand over her face.