His jaw is clenched. His eyes are shrouded in pain and laced with anger. I can’t help but reach up and touch his jaw, gliding along the smooth skin of his chin and back to his hair. Then I see what’s really going on. He’s insecure, and he’s lashing out to protect himself. “I thought you’d be happy to see me. I don’t understand why you’re attacking me,” I say. Without relaxing his chin or shoulders, he argues. “I am happy to see you, but it doesn’t change anything.”
