"Don't touch me!" My voice cracked with the force of my anger. Not a single comforting word, and yet I foolishly died for him. I yanked the blanket over myself and turned away, shoving the pillow aside forcefully. The fabric tore under my grip, feathers spilling out like my scattered patience.
He pressed against my back, worried. "Margie, what's wrong? Did I do something?"
"Oh, I don't know," I hissed, twisting to glare at him. "Maybe it's the part where you're acting like none of it happened!"
What did he do? How innocent, how helpless!
If he hadn't insisted on explaining about Liza this and Liza that, claiming he didn't love her, would I have been so consumed by despair before taking my own life?
If he hadn't been saved by that woman, I wouldn't have made that infuriating and unreliable deal with the former Vampire King.
"If I'd known coming back would mean dealing with your selective amnesia," I muttered into the sheets, "I would've stayed dead."
