“Your version of reality is askew, anyway, Beast.” She huddles on the other side of the room and plasters her forehead against the wall. I let out a bark of laughter. “Did you just call me a beast?” “Yes, but I take it back,” she bites out. “The Beast redeems himself. You would never!” “How was Paul not arrested for marrying you?” I wonder aloud. “You’re mentally twelve.” “Well, no one forced you to talk to me!” she hits back. Her accent is thicker than ever when she’s angry. “Stay on your side of the room, and leave me the heck alone.” We are both shells of our former selves. I know exactly
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