[ What's he even saying now? Would he? This whole conversation makes less and less sense. Like it's a conversation between two different people. Or at least, not involving her at all.
She's . . . mad, right? She was mad a moment ago, and she's sure that mad is what she's feeling now, but it feels like she went past that. Went too far and now everything is seeming rapidly less real. Her insides are congealing and cooling like a corpse's might.
She tries to hold onto the anger. Anger's easy, isn't it? Anger is hers, right? Anger can just say "fuck you," and it won't leave her alone to the darkness and fog. Anger won't forget how to breathe, like she's about to. ]
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She's . . . mad, right? She was mad a moment ago, and she's sure that mad is what she's feeling now, but it feels like she went past that. Went too far and now everything is seeming rapidly less real. Her insides are congealing and cooling like a corpse's might.
She tries to hold onto the anger. Anger's easy, isn't it? Anger is hers, right? Anger can just say "fuck you," and it won't leave her alone to the darkness and fog. Anger won't forget how to breathe, like she's about to. ]
Fuck you.