-Eric-

"Took you long enough."

Those were the first words out of Shawn's mouth as I stepped into the room, a thinly veiled taunt followed by a smug, knowing look. He was leaning back in his leather chair, peering up with the ghost of a smirk on his face and comfortably wearing the oblivious audacity of a grown man who hadn't been backhanded before.

I didn't humor him with a response.

Or rather, I tensely clenched my jaw shut in frustration, certain that I'd regret saying whatever was poised on the tip of my tongue, fervent to strike for the jugular. Which was close enough.

So, I swallowed down the poison like I ought to. And then again for good measure.

Unfocused eyes honed in on the card in my hand, thumb running over the crease on the bottom right corner, eager to crush the paper within my trembling fist.

I placed the dry cleaner's business card down on his desk, pressing my fingertips against the glossy finish before sliding it forward towards him. Then, I let go and turned around, decidedly heading towards the door. The sooner I could get away from him, the better.

Or, well, at least I tried.

"H-hey! Where are you going?" Shawn questioned incredulously, scoffing under his breath as I stood inches from freedom. "Get back here, brat."

Begrudgingly, I turned around to frown back at him. "Yes, Mr. Briggs?" I called out through gritted teeth, voice even despite the sharpness of my pulse. I warily held my hands close to my sides, hoping he wouldn't notice the way they were still shaking... like I couldn't wait to crawl out of my skin.

"You're still on the clock," Shawn replied, narrowing his eyes. "Sit."

I sat.

My hands curled around the arms of the chair, tightly gripping onto them, nails digging into the cool material. Though, it was still to be determined if it was for my own sake or his.

I stared back with knit brows, squinting in confusion.

His mouth was moving, yet I couldn't quite focus on the words. I could vaguely hear them in parts, my eyes narrowing as I tried to make them out by reading his lips. Something about going to pick up his lunch. And to not take... hours? Ah. To not take hours this goddamn time. Right.

"Did you hear that?" Shawn asked loudly, derisive and blunt. "At least pretend you're listening, kid."

I just nodded my head, unable to tear my gaze away from his eyes.

Yeah. I recognized those eyes. That expression. The glint of apathetic amusement as he gazed down at ants and determined which one to crush with his bare fingers. He had the same detached, condescending gaze as before, so why did I feel like clawing my eyes out?

I shuddered, trying not to avert my gaze. But it was difficult all of a sudden. I had seen that expression before. On my first-grade teacher when I pronounced three as tree. On my sophomore year counselor when I told her I was aiming for a full ride to uni. On my parents...

I lowered my head, unable to catch my breath.

Clearing my throat forced some air into my lungs, though that was temporary. I—I needed to get out of here.

I couldn't even tell if I was angry or upset, though I could feel the vexing, telling stinging along the inner corners of my eyes. If only I could dig deep with my short, bitten nails, until the unease had been stripped bare from my very pores; I could tear at flesh until there was nothing but torn muscle cascading from bloody bones... bare and void. Rip it all clean off, ridding of the contaminated flesh.

I could.

Shawn breathed out tiredly, like he was doing me a favor when he finally acknowledged my irritation. "Listen. I know what it looks like—"

"I-I get it," I grumbled while pushing myself up to my feet, unable to recognize the gruffness of my own voice. I moved away from the chair for good measure, trailing backwards with hesitant steps.

"Can I go?" I forced out. There was a silent please, though it seemingly went unheard.

Shawn frowned, rolling his eyes. "Huh? No, I still have—"

I stepped back, roughly gripping onto the doorway. The half-hearted concern in his eyes was even more frustrating. "Jacqueline called; she forgot some files," I lied, just as she'd suggested, the miraculous text having arrived right as I'd stepped off the bus earlier.

Hah. I'd had to use it after all.

It had been a life saver in the form of a small ding notification, shaking me out of the numb, restlessness I'd been sinking into as I mourned having to head back to the office.

And suddenly, I could breathe again.

It was an excuse to cling onto, even if it couldn't possibly work past this singular instance. But that was an issue for another time. I'd beg her to take me with her next time, on my knees if I had to—anything to avoid him.

Shawn furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "She did?"

I nodded my head, perhaps too eagerly. "I need to go—I need to deliver them," I muttered while warily pointing towards the office. I was half out of the room already, but I couldn't force myself to leave.

I had felt better.

But that was until I stepped foot into his office again. I wanted to look away, but our gazes were locked, tense and unblinking... as if we were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"It was an accident," Shawn explained, casually lifting the card for emphasis. "This was the wrong card. My bad."

I nodded my head, unsure of how to reply to that. Did I believe that? Did it matter at this point, when everything was said and done? It didn't erase his notion of me, harsh as the forenoon summer rays. It didn't change anything.

He scoffed, unprompted; though, my annoyance was likely visible despite my tepid efforts. "What now?"

I shrugged, awkwardly pointing in the direction of Jacqueline's office. "I—I should go. Sorry."

And then I fled, of course.

---

"I want him to burn," I complained while sitting up in bed, receiving an unimpressed glance from Mason. I'd arrived home half an hour prior and I was still trying to wind down, wearily sprawled across the single bed. "Don't look at me like that! I mean it!"

It wasn't working, though.

As for my friend, he was busily typing away on his laptop, working on an assignment against his will. He was being quite productive, all things considered, though he still took occasional breaks to mope about being too busy to head down to the gym today. So, that unavoidably meant no Bennett.

Any other time, I would've been grilling him for updates about what was going on between them. But that was precisely any other time, when I didn't feel like committing arson.

"Then buy some Kerosene," Mason replied distractedly, casually shrugging it off before narrowing his eyes at the screen. "Apprehensive or comprehensive?"

"Comprehensive," I grumbled, though I didn't have much context. "Unless you're saying someone is worried about something."

Mason nodded before snorting under his breath. "Thanks. Also, can you get a grip already?"

He dodged the pillow in time, though the backpack socked him across the forehead, clashing with a satisfying thud.

"H-hey! Bro!" Mason pleaded just as I got ready to fling one of my books at him, waving a metaphorical white flag in surrender. He used his other hand to rub at the point of impact. "Jesus..."

I scowled, contemplating my options before realizing that being upset with Mason too meant that I had nobody to complain to. "The court will allow it," I murmured while falling back onto the bed, spitefully staring up at the shitty popcorn ceiling. "But Phaeric disapproves."

Mason sighed from where he was comfortably sitting in bed, his laptop propped on a pillow as he grimaced at the screen with the conflicted intensity of someone who had most definitely not done the assigned reading for whatever response they were writing. And he likely still didn't intend to read it either.

"Let me get this straight. You're mad because he asked for breakfast and made you fetch his dry cleaning?" Mason asked after a few more minutes of furious typing, because he just couldn't help himself.

Ah.

I groaned into my pillow. And then screamed for good measure, scowling back up at him a few moments later. "Whose side are you on?" I retorted more aggressively than I'd like to admit, irked that it all sounded so ridiculously trivial when he put it like that.

Mason cringed in response, slowly shaking his head. "Fine. What's actually going on?"

I groaned in frustration, wondering how much of my rant had actually processed through that thick skull of his. "I just spent like fifteen minutes explaining shit to you; he's a jackass! And a little bitch!"

"So were half of your professors last year, and you still weren't phased by it," he countered before straightening up, turning to frown at me in mild amusement. "Didn't one of them submit your final exam score improperly? And didn't you laugh it off? A bit maniacally due to the exhaustion, sure, but you cracked jokes about it more than anything."

"And?" I grumbled. "Mistakes happen."

Mason nodded his head. "Yes, yes. I know. You said that back then too."

I shrugged indifferently. "Your point?"

"So, wasn't this a mistake too?"

I deadpanned.

"Well?"

"N-no."

Mason quirked an eyebrow, clearly having a field day watching my undoing. "Holy shit. You're actually so pissed right now, aren't you?" he asked while stifling a laugh, not even trying to hide his sadistic amusement.

I just glared back in utter disbelief. "Can you stop pointing out the obvious? Why the hell wouldn't I be pissed?"

Mason scoffed as if it were apparent, closing his laptop before signaling for me to continue talking, as if I'd just ramble across the answer myself. Except, I truly had no goddamn clue what he was getting at.

"Because that's not like you?" he finally elaborated once I threatened to throw a shoe at him.

"Then why do I feel like kicking your ass right now?" I shot back.

"Uh."

"See?"

"No, no. I'm serious. When was the last time you were this angry about... well, anything?"

I grumbled in response, frowning when nothing really came to mind. "I—I get angry all the time," I retorted, only somewhat hesitant. I did. Hell, I enjoyed complaining. Especially to Mason, who typically didn't betray me for the opposition.

Mason shook his head. "Bullshit. I get angry all the time. You get butthurt. And annoyed. And maybe even—"

"Get to the point, Mason."

He sighed. "But you never get genuinely angry. Bro, your hands are literally shaking right now. Seriously, get a grip."

I grumbled while shoving them in the pockets of my hoodie, pouting at his insinuation. "I don't care what that old sack of bones thinks. A-and I do get angry, alright? Just last week, I nearly fought an old lady for trying to kick a pigeon while walking through the park!"

Mason rolled his eyes. "Were you angry or upset?"

I narrowed my eyes, struggling to take my hand out of my pocket just so I could point at him threateningly. "Listen here, thesaurus.com; I don't—"

"—can you just answer the goddamn question?" Mason snapped before sighing to himself, slowly shaking his head.

"I-I don't know, alright?" I complained, restlessly rubbing the back of my neck. "Is there a difference?"

Apparently, there was.

---

A/N: As a revolutionary Renaissance-era poet once proclaimed, "Bitches swear they G, but the G must stand for goofy." Ahh.