Hate Me

And she just tossed his words to the side. She didn’t even respond to his arguing, not even caring and he just did not understand. It angered him, and his ears flattened fully at that point. “Why do you not care?” he snapped, worry making him lash out verbally. He didn’t get it. Why didn’t she care? Why was she brushing his words off? What was wrong with her? “What is wrong with you?” Perhaps he shouldn’t say that, but it was too late now. The words were already out, and the words were hissed in frustration from in between gritted teeth. “You need to get that looked at, the blood stopped. Whatever this,” this meaning the conversation at hand, “is about, can wait!”

And yet, she talked. She had a problem with his answer. What was wrong with his answer? “What else would you have me say?” What else did he need to say. What answer was she looking for? He couldn’t read minds! He didn't understand everything she tried to do! Why the hell did she seem to expect him to know what was going on, because he had no fucking clue what was going on. It seemed she just wanted to keep him guessing, and that frustrated him all the more. “I don’t care what happened, Mother!” he growled. “Stop with the guessing games, and start caring about what’s actually important!” They weren’t necessary; they were pointless; they wasted time, and yet here she was, doing that anyway because she wasn’t doing the smart thing and getting that shoulder wrapped up.


"Speech" | Think