Ivy huffs. “That’s the thing. I [i]want[/i] to be mad at him, but... but I can’t. I think, after all these years, some part of me still wants him. The other part, the logical part, keeps reminding me that I’d be throwing away four [i]years[/i] of independence, and all that I’ve learned about myself, the world, gone just to go back to [i]him[/i]. I think he thinks I hate him, but I don't. I [i]can’t.[/i] The day he gave me my memories back, I heard his voice in my head and, I just yearned to see this faceless owner of the voice, to kiss him and hold him and love him, without even considering what was in his heart. Arty, to go back to him is to say I haven’t changed, that nothing happened, that it can just be the way it was. It doesn’t work like that, [i]I[/i] Don’t work like that. And I can’t hurt him with that reality. Not now.”