– and so she does “take a second”. Make that a minute, listening to this saturated array of bullshit spewing out of his mouth liked a parent condescending their child. WELL , that’s a little harsh, but she’s pissed. Pissed and with an abundance of post-high school baggage. Before continuing, she goes in almost full force with a knee to his crotch, THE LAST HIT SHE SWEARS. But it was better letting it out now than setting fire to his tent. “Your proposal, elaborate.”
He says, “Give me a minute,” but he means more like ten, and he presses both his hands to his knees as he tries to remember to breathe. “I probably deserved that, like, TWO YEARS AGO,” he manages to mutter, and he sounds strangely choked up. “So if we could refrain from doing that again, that’d be great.” And then he rises, looking relatively calm, apart from the the distressed line that’s etched itself between his brows. “Right. PLAN. Here’s the thing. It’s been two years. I know you might feel like it’s my mission to DESTROY YOUR LIFE, but think rationally. When’s the last time you saw me? Gotten a text? I stayed on my side of New England well enough, and I can do the same thing here.”
