“Don’t look at me like that.”
She blinks and takes half a step back. “Like what?”
“Like you feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t—”
“I get it. I didn’t have a normal childhood. My parents didn’t read to me. I didn’t learn any of the normal social skills. I’m a freak. I get it.”
“I never—”
I slide my arms into the jacket and tug it on, jerking the lapels together. “Not everyone wants parents who read them bedtime stories or coddle them. Not everyone needs that. Some kids—smart kids—they need other things. They need mental stimulation. Intellectual challenges. The freedom to study without feeling like they’re a freak. I got all the things I needed. I was fine. I am fine.”
Suddenly, I’m aware of two things.
First, my voice has gotten loud. Even for me.
So loud I’m nearly shouting. Which I never do.
Okay, that’s bullshit. I shout all the time. When I’m mad. When someone fucks up. When I fuck up.
But I don’t shout when I’m upset.
I don’t get upset.
Not about this kind of shit.
The second thing I’m aware of is that Holly is still looking at me like she feels sorry for me.
Like me telling her that I’m fine has absolutely convinced her that I’m a pathetic loser.
Which is just fucking great.
I’m willing to put up with a lot of shit.
I’m used to people thinking I’m a freak. Whatever.
Even here. Even at one of the best research universities in the country, I don’t fit in. Partly because I’m smarter than everyone else. Partly because I’m big and I take up too much damn space. But mostly—to quote one of my former grad students—because I’m “a misanthropic dick who gets off on being mean.”
I don’t.
I don’t get off on being mean. But I also don’t have the patience to deal with people who cry every time I lose my temper. Or who make mistakes all the damn time.
So yeah, I’m used to being reviled.
But I’m not used to being pitied.
I don’t like it.
Not at all. Not from Holly.
Especially not from Holly.
I would rather she look at me with anything other than pity.
Even hatred.
Chapter 13
