2/2
When she looks at him after that tear escapes, with blood streaked across the crest of her cheek like a streak of warpaint, his heart buckles and crashes like horse shot mid-gallop. Full force into the ground, tumbling and crushing and kicking up dust. He nods, but he feels like such a low-down lying bucket o' scum that even the nod feels disingenuous. How can he stand here and tell her it was real? It was real for him, but it wasn't for her. She cared for the false version of himself he'd been presenting to her. Anything she felt for him was based on lies. That ain't real. His heart is still set on her, still on fire with the desire to have her as his and his alone, still hung up on this surety that she's the only woman who could bring him to bow down and surrender his heart. All of that was real. Asking her to be his lady, that was real. Kissing her with a promise on his lips, that was real. But what she felt for him in return? That was all built on a foundation of lies, and now the basement's caved in and the whole thing has crumbled down to ash and rubble.
He wants to say yes. But he can't. He can't lie anymore. Instead he just manages to rasp out, "It was to me. It was... I meant everything. I meant it all."
How is she supposed to believe anything he says now? He can't expect her to. He turns away, lifting a shaking hand to scrub over his face, rubbing tears and blood off onto his palm as he scours his calloused hand over his bruised face. He feels despicable and he reckons he looks despicable, too. He drags in a deep breath, shuddering in his chest, and he keeps his face turned away from Lita when he speaks again, eyes off in the distance somewhere.