"Then what am I supposed to- don't you dare fucking compare us like we're buddy-buddy." That makes her angrier, that hits a mark deep down. He's not like her. He hasn't done shit that she has. He hasn't lived a comfortable life, she can see that, but it's not- "We're not the same. We are not the fucking same! You think- you think I can't see what you're doing? Trying to fucking lure me in? Like I never been in a fight with somebody taller than me? If my dad wasn't dead, he'd be your age. You think I got scars like this from winning?"
She angrily swipes at her face. There are a few steps missing in that argument, usually something she's a stickler for, making sure shit's explained and laid out as crystal fucking clear as possible. Especially when she's mad, when the whole world snaps into place, when everything makes sense. But she feels kind of muddy-headed, like she did when that window opened (it just opened, who has attic windows that open that easily?). She ignores that, too.
"I know what you're trying to pull," she says, breathing hotly, nearly panting. "And I'm not-"
His words break her concentration, and she stops, flinches at nothing, and begins scratching, clawing at her neck.
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She angrily swipes at her face. There are a few steps missing in that argument, usually something she's a stickler for, making sure shit's explained and laid out as crystal fucking clear as possible. Especially when she's mad, when the whole world snaps into place, when everything makes sense. But she feels kind of muddy-headed, like she did when that window opened (it just opened, who has attic windows that open that easily?). She ignores that, too.
"I know what you're trying to pull," she says, breathing hotly, nearly panting. "And I'm not-"
His words break her concentration, and she stops, flinches at nothing, and begins scratching, clawing at her neck.