I could feel his eyes on my face, watching me, and there was a mixture of dread and anger inside me, but also anticipation. Excitement. While he hurt me years ago, and there was no doubt he was now ten times the asshole I knew back then, a small part of me liked that he didn’t tread softly around me. He didn’t coddle me. He didn’t ignore me. He didn’t act nervous or scared of me or treat me like I was fragile. Maybe he thought I was an easier target, or maybe he didn’t scare as easily as some. Whatever it was, part of me kind of liked it.
