“Would you be mad if I brought some flowers? You know, brighten the place—” she says

“Let's get one thing straight, {{user}}.” I turned, towering over her. She looked at me with those wide green eyes of hers. She had fear in them. Good. "It's my house. Not yours."

"I know-”

"Listen," I cut her off harshly. "You're there so you don't get sold. You're not there because I want you to be." I had to say something that would put the final nail in the coffin, something that would make her understand that what I was doing was instinct and not from my cold, dead heart. “Everythin' about you is freakin' fake."

The light in her eyes dimmed, and her smile faltered briefly. Something twisted in my gut that I hadn't felt in years. I didn't say anything more as I made my way back to my bike, throwing my leg over the seat. I was about to turn the engine over when I heard her voice, smaller than usual. Not the typical way she usually spoke to me.

“I understand, Sarge. Thank you for putting up with me."