❝ that make you feel better? ❞ she didn't need to specify -- her expression ( tight and vastly unimpressed, closed posture ) spoke greater volumes than her voice ever could. though she regarded androids with a wary distaste and she would not say she PITIED them, it just . . . didn't sit right, hurting something that couldn't fight back. ❝ 'cause it makes you look like a real fuckin' asshole, Gav. ❞
“Are you shitting me-- Really? Hell yeah it made me feel better.” As if to make a point of it, he kicked the android back down as it attempted to stand. There were so many things that pissed him off, but one thing that was about to piss him off more than anything else? His sister getting on his ass for his behavior. They’d been walking back from lunch, and this stupid tin can had just so happened to get in Gavin’s way. Granted, he was already having a bad day, but the old model seemed out of it, struggling, as if it’s GPS system had entirely shut down. Not to mention the useless hunk of junk had dared to touch him, to try and ask him for direction or help or some shit-- He didn’t know, he couldn’t even remember, all he knew was that his vision had bled red, and he’d wailed on the android enough to put it to the cement. “It put it’s fuckin’ hands on me Melissa, what d’you think I’m gonna do? It’s an empty fuckin’ machine, don’t give me that shit, or are you goin’ soft too? Gonna start wavin’ flags for android rights?” But she was right, he had looked like an asshole for beating down a robot that looked to already be mostly broken. God fucking damn did he hate that look she was giving him -- But the split second that his brain said to sock her, he jerked his head suddenly away, looking anywhere else. Anywhere but her or that damn android. Hand lifting to the back of his neck, he rubbed away at it hard, a disturbance in his expression as he inhaled sharp. All of that red in his face from anger and blood rushing to his thick skull began to rapidly drain, an almost withdrawn paleness meeting his features. A color that meant somewhere along the line, his conscience had finally caught up with him and it was hitting him like a freight train. “Whatever just-- Let’s get out of here.” Fist clenching tight, he gripped it with his other hand hard enough to crack knuckles. Those thoughts, these actions, they could all be avoided couldn’t they? With that little orange bottle back at the precinct, tucked away in his desk under his amassed collection of pez dispensers with silly cartoon heads. “It’s gettin’ dicey.” Guilt, guilt, guilt -- How could he think that? How could that thought cross his mind? How could he, for a split second, have even considered bringing his knuckles across his baby sister’s face. Shoulder tightening, he stepped over the android and began his pace back to work. Distance himself from Melissa, distance himself from this. He was a monster, wasn’t he? Yeah... He was a fucking monster.
