" You’re an asshole,” she grumbles, lying down beside me, close enough to touch but we’re not touching. She feels miles away right now, coldness settling in that space between us.
“Yeah, well, at least you know...”
“Yeah, and it’s a pity, really, because I found myself starting to give a fuck about you.”
She says nothing else.
I don’t say anything, either.
We lay there in silence.
For once, I don’t prefer it.
I want her to say something else, anything else, just to erase those words now assaulting my mind.
I found myself starting to give a fuck about you.
I don’t like it, not at all, because as she says those words, I come to realize, in the moment, that feeling might be mutual. "
― J.M. Darhower , Grievous (Scarlet Scars, #2)