She flinched, freezing in place, and hung her head, the picture of guilt. After a moment, she came back, not meeting his eyes, and picked up the pad.
‘you don’t want me here. I ask too much’
She could feel his anger, but didn’t understand it.
“I don’t want you here. That’s why I invited you in my home and cooked for you. I even offered you a place to sleep and a shower. You’re right.” He felt his muscles tensing as he got up. “If you don’t want to be here, fine. You can leave but don’t say things that aren’t even true.”
She hunched even lower under his sarcasm. ‘you pushed me away. you don’t know what to do with me’. He loomed over her, and she looked up, eyes wide. She wasn’t afraid, exactly, of him, but the sheer dependency of her ill-defined role here made her uneasy.