" That bitch.” Perry said. “Do you want me to go over there?”
“No, I’ll take care of this.”
I marched over and slammed my glass on the mahogany bar.
Tiffany fake-smiled. “A psychic and a medium walk into a bar. The psychic says . . .”
“Screw you.”
She frowned. “That’s not how the joke goes, Clare.”
“You know where you can shove your joke. Just get me a new drink and try not to include any of your STD-laced body fluid in it this time.”
Tiffany dumped the soda out and began to repour.
“I’d like a whole new glass.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, then grunted as she reached for a new glass. “So how’s Justin?” she asked.
I wanted to use an upended stool to pole vault over the bar and gouge her eyes out. Instead I took a deep breath and talked myself through it.
Remain calm.
Don’t sink to her level.
You are a classy girl.
She is a psychotic skankbag.
You are the better of the two. Act like it.
Okay, now I was calm. “I don’t know how Justin is and I don’t care.”
“Really?” she said. “I thought you cared about him a lot.”
Maybe she’s suicidal? That’s why she keeps inviting me to kill her? I fumbled with the coaster in front of me to keep my hands busy, since all they wanted to do at that moment was wrap themselves around her neck. "

― Kim Harrington , Clarity (Clarity, #1)