I hated that. I hated him for seeing it.
“You don’t know what’s in my head.” I said as my voice came out colder this time.
“No. But I know you.” He replied quietly.
That almost cracked through my anger for half a second. But it didn’t.
Instead I grabbed the pistol off the table again and shoved back from the chair.
“I’m doing having this conversation.” I said.
“You keep running from it.” He said.
“Funny coming from you.” I said turning toward him again.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked as his eyes narrowed.
“You think smashing things and throwing punches counts as dealing with stuff.” I said.
“At least I admit when something’s affecting me.” He said.
That one landed too close. My pulse kicked harder while exhaustion scraped raw against every nerve in my body.
