I feel small and stupid, naked and huddled on the ground. There’s dirt on my butt. I’ve ruined another outfit and pair of shoes. And it’s all his fault. “You can’t stay here.” He says it very reasonably. There’s even a hint of compassion in his voice. I want to choke him to death with his patronizing bull crap. “You’re not my mate,” I say. He can hear it as many times as I’ve had to. He winces, and my mean streak is happy.
