16th February 2015
The house was completely dark by the time Ali let himself back in. Moxie shot inside around his ankles. Ali dropped his keys onto the hall table with a defeated sigh, the anger draining out of him like pus from a lanced boil.
And in its wake, guilt. Yazid hadn’t deserved that.
It was the thing Ali hated most about himself—when he was upset, he took it out on other people, and Yazid was usually in the firing line. He couldn’t even remember the last time Yazid had actually started an argument, or even been angry at Ali. He was just so…so relaxed and supportive and accommodating, and…
“Face it, Ali, I have taken a lot of s**t for you, so you don’t get to start doling it out, too.”
“You act like you have a right to control where I go and what I do, then yeah, I’ll dole
