She pivoted on her booted heel and glared at him. "You know, when I told you that the island had changed you into being honest for a change, I was wrong."

They were in the foyer of the Queen mansion and she was sure Felicity, Diggle, Thea and God knew who else, were somewhere listening in. She couldn't care less. She was done with being nice, waiting for breadcrumbs from Ollie, waiting for him to finally tell her the truth. Tell her she actually mattered.

"The time you spent on the island only turned you into a manipulative son of a bitch," she spat.

Of course he didn't say anything to that. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at her with those puppy eyes he's been sometimes sporting ever since he's returned from his five-year episode of Survivor. There was a faint sheen of tears in those eyes, and a mixture of emotions she didn't want to identify.

Boy, he was good.

"You tell me you love me—"

He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

"No, let me rephrase that. You tell me you cannot deny loving me because it wouldn't be the truth." She sighed in frustration. "You only bring up these so called feelings you have for me when it serves some convoluted purpose of yours. Then, when the moment passes, you push me back away."

He pressed his lips together in that endearing way he had—Focus, Laurel!—and glanced down at his feet.

"I'm done." She got into his face. "Do you understand, Oliver Queen? I'm done!"

"Laurel, you pushed me away, too, remember?"

He really wanted to go down that road? Fine!

"Yeah, I remember. And I'm still of the same opinion. Sleeping with you was a mistake. Or maybe not so much a mistake than an epiphany. I woke up and you were gone. I've been relegated to yet another of your one-night stands. Thanks for making me see reason."

"It wasn't like that."

"Really? Could've fooled me. Because every man disappears for five months after sleeping with the woman that supposedly means more to him than anyone."

She quickly took a step back as he reached for her. "Don't touch me." Damn, her voice was shaking. She closed her eyes, counted to five reaching for the calm, opened them again. "Don't ever touch me again. God only knows where those hands have been." She cocked her head, looked him straight in the eye, proud at the firmness of her voice, at keeping the shakes at bay. "Besides, you don't need me anymore. Sara's back. One Lance sister or the other never made any difference to you."

"Laurel," he said softly, "I know you hate me—"

"Well, you got that wrong. I don't hate you."

He just looked at her.

"Hate would involve a strong emotion. With you strong emotions are just not worth the effort," she finished softly. She was tired. "Goodbye, Oliver."

She turned away, but before she took a step toward the door, she remembered she had to return something. She fished around in her bag and handed him the flat, black object. "You can have your damn phone back."

Without another word and without a backward glance, Laurel Lance finally walked out of Oliver Queen's life for good.