Rita's Point Of View
The mere sight of his face was like a match dropped into a pool of gasoline. My blood didn't just boil; it vaporized. I felt my grip on the door handle tighten until my knuckles made a popping sound that echoed in the quiet hallway.
The wood grain pressed into my palm, grounding me even as fury threatened to lift me off my feet. I was so close… millimeters away from slamming the solid oak right onto his nose and calling it a day. It would have been the most satisfying sound I'd heard all year. Perhaps the most satisfying sound of my entire life.
"What are you doing here, Adrian?!" The name tasted bitter on my tongue, and I spat it out like a piece of rotten meat. Each syllable burned as it left my mouth.
He stood there, looking far more disheveled than the arrogant boy who used to strut around my living room as if he owned the place. That version of Adrian had been polished, confident, always ready with a charming smile that I'd once found endearing.
