He glares at me for just a moment, a moment when I feel ice cold and lost and hurt all at the same time.
"I'm not mad at *you*," he snaps angrily.
I'm torn between crying and snapping back. "What would you call it then?"
"I'm mad at the world," he breathes. He glares at me again, and I wonder if he knows the anger behind his gaze.
He throws his hands up in the air. "Forget it."
I can only walk away.
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