"How fucking awful for you," she replies. A half dozen nasty things to say come to mind, and she fumbles over which to say first, so she doesn't say any of them.

She watches him and she knows she's supposed to be smarter than being here, and more mature than throwing punches, and colder than these fucked up tantrums. She knows that. She should go. At the very least, she should lean back on her heels, root herself there and never move again. Stop fucking engaging.

She stays put.

"The world didn't let me down," she informs him, finally. "I learned how the world works a long time ago, and you'll never understand that. Not with..."

She gestures. A fucking decorator.