MELISSA
I scoffed, turning my head from side to side in an agitated manner.
“Is everything alright?” The man in the driver’s seat who Damien called Rafael asked. I had seen him once before. Actually, it was twice. He was Damien’s friend I guess.
“I don’t know what your definition of alright is, but I can assure you I’m not.” I said with a grumpy look in my eyes.
“A simple 'I'm not fine would have been an okay reply.” He said slowly.
I wanted to tell him that he had no right to tell me what to say, but he wasn’t the one who pissed me off—Damien was.
I eased into the car seat, turning my face toward the window. “I’m angry, and I know I shouldn’t be saying this to you because you men don’t care about anyone’s feelings but your own.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t appreciate being stereotyped,
