He shoved me aside impatiently.
“Are you done yet? Haven’t I already made myself clear?”
“Must you keep making baseless accusations, stirring up trouble, trampling my dignity into the ground?”
My lower back slammed against the stair railing, pain shooting through me so sharply I couldn’t straighten.
George rolled his eyes and came over irritably, trying to pull me up.
“Alright, stop pretending. Acting weak doesn’t suit you. You didn’t get the nickname ‘tomboy’ for nothing!”
I remembered sophomore year, when he had walked me back to my dorm.
Just as we reached the bottom, a basin fell from above. Without thinking, I had pushed him aside, taken the hit on my head, and smiled at him, insisting I was fine.
In the end, I needed five stitches, earning the nickname “tomboy.”
Now he used it as a mockery.
I jerked away from his hand. “Don’t touch me… you’re filthy.”
His face stiffened, his hand curling into a tight fist.
“Can’t you speak properly for once today?”
“I’ve said all I need to. With her, there’s no me.”
Leaving the words hanging, I turned and went upstairs.
George opened his mouth to follow, but Kristen began to sob softly.