Stef, always more realistic, isn’t thinking along the same lines. College is just about over. She’s considering becoming a physician’s assistant, less stressful than a doctor. About Lillo, she says, “I still love him.” Then she flashes with anger. “I forgave him too many fucking times,” she says. She feels terrible for Lillo, but, at least, now she knows where he is every second of the day and that he can’t get drugs. “I’m not scared for you anymore,” she told him, and then told him that she just wants to be friends.
Lillo told her he doesn’t want her pity. And anyhow, he doesn’t see himself with her forever. He says, “At this point, I need to think about myself and get out of here.” He’s working out again. His arms, even his abs, which have a long surgical scar from the shooting, are coming back. Lately, he’s thinking about his hair, how he’ll do it when he gets out, maybe for his movie. He’s weighing a new look. Long in the back, he’s thinking, like a soap-opera star.