“Why do I do this?” I asked.1
“Do what?”2
“This.” I replied, gesturing to the room. “Everything. Why do I do it if I know that it’s not going to help?3
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he smiled that half smile he always had on when he knew he was right. That smile pissed me off to no end.4
“I guess.” There was a moment of silence.5
“I don’t know, I guess I think people would actually want to come and help.”6
“They don’t?” again with the smile. I really wanted to punch him in the face.7
“They do, just not all the time. I always pick the most inappropriate moments to feel like this.”8
“And why do you do that?”9
I glare at him. If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be here, now would I? “I don’t know. Maybe some freaking childhood trauma or some shit like that?” 10
“Maybe,” he said, “and maybe not.”11
“Then how do I know?”12
He smiled again. I really hate that smile. I wish I could just lean over and tear it off of his face. He raised an eyebrow, inviting me to voice my opinion. I rolled my eyes before I continued. “Okay, its got nothing to do with my childhood… at least I don’t think it does.”13
“Now we’re making progress.” Oh, I’m annoyed.14
Author notes
yeah, that's all i have so far... it sounded better in my head. oh well. at least it's out now.
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