I spend the thirty minutes after Dee walks out cursing and pacing and kicking shit around my apartment—generally pissed off at the entire world. “Shit!” I’m angry at myself for letting things get as far as they did—for losing my patience and my temper—and for even falling for Dee in the first place. My self-flagellation is hot and varied and doesn’t make a whole lot of sense—even to me. I’m furious with Delores—for not trusting me, for not even fucking trying. For not thinking what we have is worth the risk. For thinking I’m a goddamn risk at all, when I’ve done everything possible to show her I’m not. And I’m beyond irritated with Drew—but I’m not sure what the fuck for yet. Maybe he cut Kate down just like Dee claimed. And if he did, it was an asshole move. One that’s unjustly blown back on me. And I’m kind of pissed that he even screwed Kate at all—breaking his precious, stupid fucking rule that was there for a reason.
