How do I tell him without putting that poison in his head?
How do I explain what set me off without making him picture it, without making him think there was even a world where someone could look at him that way?
He doesn't deserve this filth. And now he's confused. He wants answers. Heshouldwant answers.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand. "We just had beef. Old shit. You know how it is."
I can feel him freeze behind me.
"Seriously?" he finally says. "You started a goddamn fight over some ego bullshit from years ago?"
I shrug, even though it makes my shoulder scream.
"Felt right."
He scoffs. "You're insane."
"Probably."
"You embarrassed everyone."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
He takes a step closer, and I can practically hear the tension in his body. "You could've gotten arrested."
"But I didn't."
He lets out a bitter laugh. "You're unbelievable."
I turn around to look at him. Jesus Christ. He looks so damn innocent with that expression that it almost makes me sick. Not in a bad way. In the ‘fuck, you really have no idea what world you're standing in right now’ way.
He's angry at me. I can see it all over his face.
But this time? I don't give a shit. Not even a little.
Because I know exactly what I'm doing. I know what filth I'm shielding him from. I know what kind of sewer words were being thrown around about him.
And if he ever heard them, if those images ever touched his head, they'd rot him from the inside.
So yeah. He can be pissed. He can yell.
He can be disappointed. He can think I'm reckless and violent and stupid. Let him.
Because for once, I know I'm right.
"I handled it," I say softly.
"You made a scene, Gio."
I smile at that. Bad move. Pain cracks across my cheek. I wince, and the smile turns into a grimace.
He steps closer. "Why are you smiling?"
"Because it hurts when I do."
He stares at me, and something in his expression shifts, just a fraction. "I'm still pissed at you," he mutters, dropping his eyes.
"Like. Really pissed."
