He pulled the covers off me, and the morning light hit my eyes all at once, sharp and unwelcome.
"Are you trying to suffocate yourself?" he asked, scowling down at me with that particular expression that managed to be both concerned and completely missing the point at the same time.
I wasn't in the mood. "Ashton, can't I just feel things? Have you ever once stopped to think about how I feel?"
He furrowed his brows. "Are you unwell?"
I wanted to scream. The fact that he could look at me like this and ask that question told me everything about the gap between us that I didn't have the words to cross. "Can't you tell?" I gritted out.
His frown deepened, shifting into the problem-solving expression I had come to recognize and dread. "Let's go to the hospital."
I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. "Get out!"
He left without a word and pulled the door shut behind him. Quietly. Which somehow made it worse.
