Nine.
Tone for the story: Aggressive, confrontational, incorrect.
She'd been cautious in advancing quietly. She sensed he was feeling volatile, even if she couldn't pinpoint why. He always had demanded privacy for when his shield began crumbling, but she felt somewhere inside, he really needed someone there. No person can survive rebuilding alone. Not multiple times, anyway.
"Are you okay?" She finally let her voice echo into the silence.
"Go away," he quickly replied, bitterly.
She shuddered but disobeyed. "What's wrong with you?"
He replied the same as before.
"I just want to know what--"
"I'm fine," he snapped abruptly. "I'm perfectly fine and I don't need you crowding around me right now. So just go away."
She scowled slightly. "You're lying." She stepped forward. "I feel it. You're lying to me. You know how I feel about that."
His eyes looked distant when he looked at her. "Your 'feelings' aren't always right. I know how you feel about lying... do you know how I feel about smothering?"
She offered no response except a sharp, angry inhaling of air.
"I hate it," he replied for her. "And you're good at it."
"So I've been told," she growled, digging a proverbial knife into a scar, "in the past."
"Let it die!" He instantly yelled, outraged. "That's the past, damnit... let it die!"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She snapped rudely, stepping forward and pointing an accusing finger at him. "You'd love to play blind to the past. 'Oh, if I pretend it didn't happen, then it really didn't.'"
"That's not the truth," he shook his head.
"It doesn't work that way," she continued, ignoring him. "You can pretend all you want, but it won't make the past go away. It won't make your mistake any less of an error. And it definitely won't make me like you any more."
It was his turn to dig, and he took the opportunity graciously. "You don't even like me at all. You'd care less if I died right now."
Her green eyes flared. "You'd know all about caring less, wouldn't you?"
Their voices rose in time with their tempers. The little room echoed with angered yelling. The air grew heavy with hostility, and it looked like either would jump at any time.
He would snap first. "Damn you! You think you know everything!"
"You don't care, admit it!" She screeched back, over him.
"I never said that! You're throwing words down my throat, damnit!"
"Good!" She smiled meanly. "You oughta choke on 'em. Maybe you'll learn something!"
They were now arguing over each other, vying to verbally beat the other one to the floor. Their words were stinging harder than any physical match could dare to dream.
"You think I need to learn something?" He scoffed. "You need to be taught that you're not always right!"
"I am in this regard, and you're playing blind," her voice lowered.
His brain gave an odd pulse. Damnit, he knew that tone. She was about to start playing low. "Don't even start that," he started.
"Start what?"
"You're planning on using manipulation again. You think I don't see that?"
"I'm surprised that you do," she laughed.
The laughter drove him up the wall. He felt a building state of violence crawling up his spine, but his logic managed to keep control. There would be no way he would hurt this girl. Not again. It wouldn't accomplish anything.
It still couldn't curb his words. He turned away angrily, walking quickly. "Why don't you just go die then?" He demanded, his lying words of rage escaping without thought.
She replied without missing a beat, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Shut up and go die!" He yelled again, blocking out her potential response. He stormed off to another part of the building, swearing angrily to himself. His body shivered with unused, violent energy. He closed his eyes and tried to get himself under control.
She had allowed herself to vent out her anger against the books. She grabbed several and flung them haphazardly about the room with extreme force. She yelled her profanities aloud, drowning out the other sounds of her angst. The glass breaking when windows collided with dusted books. The sound of the wall echoing crashes of covers to brick. One big melody of rage, led by an upset conductor.
The melody sounded as the triumphant fanfare of the end of the wrong battle.
She'd been cautious in advancing quietly. She sensed he was feeling volatile, even if she couldn't pinpoint why. He always had demanded privacy for when his shield began crumbling, but she felt somewhere inside, he really needed someone there. No person can survive rebuilding alone. Not multiple times, anyway.
"Are you okay?" She finally let her voice echo into the silence.
"Go away," he quickly replied, bitterly.
She shuddered but disobeyed. "What's wrong with you?"
He replied the same as before.
"I just want to know what--"
"I'm fine," he snapped abruptly. "I'm perfectly fine and I don't need you crowding around me right now. So just go away."
She scowled slightly. "You're lying." She stepped forward. "I feel it. You're lying to me. You know how I feel about that."
His eyes looked distant when he looked at her. "Your 'feelings' aren't always right. I know how you feel about lying... do you know how I feel about smothering?"
She offered no response except a sharp, angry inhaling of air.
"I hate it," he replied for her. "And you're good at it."
"So I've been told," she growled, digging a proverbial knife into a scar, "in the past."
"Let it die!" He instantly yelled, outraged. "That's the past, damnit... let it die!"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She snapped rudely, stepping forward and pointing an accusing finger at him. "You'd love to play blind to the past. 'Oh, if I pretend it didn't happen, then it really didn't.'"
"That's not the truth," he shook his head.
"It doesn't work that way," she continued, ignoring him. "You can pretend all you want, but it won't make the past go away. It won't make your mistake any less of an error. And it definitely won't make me like you any more."
It was his turn to dig, and he took the opportunity graciously. "You don't even like me at all. You'd care less if I died right now."
Her green eyes flared. "You'd know all about caring less, wouldn't you?"
Their voices rose in time with their tempers. The little room echoed with angered yelling. The air grew heavy with hostility, and it looked like either would jump at any time.
He would snap first. "Damn you! You think you know everything!"
"You don't care, admit it!" She screeched back, over him.
"I never said that! You're throwing words down my throat, damnit!"
"Good!" She smiled meanly. "You oughta choke on 'em. Maybe you'll learn something!"
They were now arguing over each other, vying to verbally beat the other one to the floor. Their words were stinging harder than any physical match could dare to dream.
"You think I need to learn something?" He scoffed. "You need to be taught that you're not always right!"
"I am in this regard, and you're playing blind," her voice lowered.
His brain gave an odd pulse. Damnit, he knew that tone. She was about to start playing low. "Don't even start that," he started.
"Start what?"
"You're planning on using manipulation again. You think I don't see that?"
"I'm surprised that you do," she laughed.
The laughter drove him up the wall. He felt a building state of violence crawling up his spine, but his logic managed to keep control. There would be no way he would hurt this girl. Not again. It wouldn't accomplish anything.
It still couldn't curb his words. He turned away angrily, walking quickly. "Why don't you just go die then?" He demanded, his lying words of rage escaping without thought.
She replied without missing a beat, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Shut up and go die!" He yelled again, blocking out her potential response. He stormed off to another part of the building, swearing angrily to himself. His body shivered with unused, violent energy. He closed his eyes and tried to get himself under control.
She had allowed herself to vent out her anger against the books. She grabbed several and flung them haphazardly about the room with extreme force. She yelled her profanities aloud, drowning out the other sounds of her angst. The glass breaking when windows collided with dusted books. The sound of the wall echoing crashes of covers to brick. One big melody of rage, led by an upset conductor.
The melody sounded as the triumphant fanfare of the end of the wrong battle.