She stiffened at the sound of him. But there was no room to move, no time to react, and suddenly he was in her space. Caught off guard, she froze exactly where she was, face buried into her arms, waiting for the next move. Waiting for him to sit, to speak . . . to intrude enough into her space to create justification for a strike.

The water glass clinked faintly as he set it down on the tile. She startled at the sound of it, at his footsteps moving away. Her head shot up only in time to catch his foot as it left the doorway. She heard him settle. Wait.

Damn him. God damn him.

It would be so much easier to condemn him. So much easier to fortify herself by hating him. The words were like a hand, cool against her cheek, turning her to look.

No. It wasn't that easy. She wasn't that easy.

"You want me just to tell you." The words were measured, held, but they shuddered beneath the surface, the syllables too sharp, gripped between the teeth. "Explain it to you. Factually, like it doesn't have any meaning. Everything has logical and structural pattern to you; it can be sorted and categorized and filed away. But people aren't like that. I'm not like that."

Her voice rose like a challenge. "You hurt me."