He winces, but ultimately takes no offense: if Abby were genuinely cruel, they’d never have gotten this far.

“I want,” he says weakly, “I want to be someone people can like.” He scowls, looking down, embarrassed. One long finger begins to trace the embroidered pattern on the pillow.
“But not—- because they see potential for this or that, or because I’m changing myself, or… not that change is a bad thing, but,”

He hesitates, a distinctly weary quality overtaking his frown.
“I… Maybe I’m not sure who I even am anymore. But whoever it is, I don’t think he’s worth much. I don’t think there’s much to love there, and I don’t think there ever has been. And maybe I—-“

His voice hitches a bit and he angles his head away.
“—maybe I like people who treat me like shit because at least they’re honest, aren’t they? And I can give them what they want.”