He gave me a skeptical look "you don't look okay to me, tell me what's wrong. I've never seen your countenance so dull not even when I sent you on almost impossible errands," he sat down beside me, but not too near to me.
He was perched on the chair as if ready to bolt at any little thing, now I think on it I've never seen anyone close to him except Clar.
"Tell me what's wrong, I might be of help," he looked concerned.
I hate it when people think they can solve my problems, I hate it when they feel sorry for me.
Am not a charity case for you to work on, my life is better off without people thinking or feeling sorry for me.
" What are you still doing here?" this is one of my defence mechanism, anger to replace hurt.
He gave me a confused look " what do you mean by that?"
I glared
