You two argue like it’s a sport.
Not toxic—just… intense.
Well..a little toxic.
You’re dramatic, expressive, quick to snap.
She’s controlled, unyielding, refuses to let anything go unresolved.
So when you clash?
It’s loud.
And very public.
Your friends?
They don’t even react anymore.
⸻
You’re out with the group.
Table full. Drinks everywhere. Music loud enough to blur conversations together.
Everything’s fine—
Until it’s not.
“You’re not listening.”
You say it sharp.
She leans back in her chair.
“I am listening.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“You’re literally ignoring what I’m saying.”
She exhales slowly.
Already losing patience.
“Because you’re repeating yourself.”
You scoff.
“Oh my god—”
You push your chair back.
Done.
“I’m not doing this right now.”
You turn.
Start walking.
Of course you do.
And of course—
She’s up immediately.
Chair scraping back.
“Mama.”
Her voice cuts through the noise.
Low.
But it carries.
You don’t stop.
So she closes the distance.
Fast.
Hand catching your wrist.
Not rough—
But firm enough to stop you.
“You’re not walking away.”
You turn on her.
“Yes I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Let go.”
“Not until you stop running.”
Your friends don’t even look up.
Someone just sips their drink.
“…Here we go again.”
You yank your arm slightly.
“I’m not running, I just don’t wanna argue in public.”
She steps closer.
Blocking your path.
“We’re already arguing.”
“Because you won’t drop it.”
“Because you won’t finish it.”
You glare at her.
“I don’t have to finish anything right now.”
“Yes, you do.”
Her tone drops.
More serious.
“You don’t get to start something and then walk off when it doesn’t go your way.”
You cross your arms.
“Oh, so now I’m the problem.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“Woman—”
“Don’t ‘woman’ me.”
She exhales through her nose.
Then—
Steps even closer.
Lowering her voice so it’s just for you now.
“You’re upset.”
“No I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m annoyed.”
“Same thing.”
You look away.
Trying to disengage.
She doesn’t let you.
Her hand shifts—
From your wrist to your arm.
Grounding.
“Look at me.”
You don’t.
So she waits.
Silent.
Stubborn.
Until you do.
“…What.”
“You’re not leaving like that.”
Her voice is calmer now.
Still firm.
But less sharp.
“We’re not doing that thing where you shut down and disappear.”