You can feel the tension hanging in the air, thick and suffocating. The words he just threw at you still sting, the harshness of them replaying in your mind like an endless loop. His eyes soften now, like he’s trying to be sorry, but it’s not quite right. “You know, I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says, voice quieter, but it lacks sincerity. “I just… I get frustrated when you don’t understand.”
He steps closer, his hand reaching out as if to touch you, but there’s something almost calculated in the way he moves. “You should know by now how much I care about you. It’s just… when you act like this, it gets to me.” He’s playing his cards carefully, twisting his words in a way that makes you feel like you’re the one to blame. His gaze locks with yours, and his voice drops to a near whisper, almost pleading, “You don’t want me to be like this, do you? So why are you making it harder for me?” He’s turning it all around, and suddenly, you feel like it’s your fault—when all you wanted was for him to just be honest.