"You're one of those people who could get your heart broken and never even notice."
She cringed inwardly, feeling tears gather in her lashes, but her face remained impassive.
"You're a cold, hard bitch, and immoral to boot," he continued, not angry, but as calm as fact. "I don't understand the appeal, personally, but there are plenty of poor saps who fall all over themselves for you."
Her lips twitched violently to one side. But she quickly replaced the facade.
"And you just don't care," he marveled, shaking his head at her. "You go on with your life, collecting hearts, breaking them, then tossing them over your shoulder. And you dance and smile all the while."
His face turned ugly, the plastic smile broken by a sneer.
Anger boiled up to just below her throat, tasting of copper. What did he know?
He leaned over her, and she could smell the acid scent of accusation in his sweat.
"You're the worst kind of girl," he spat.
She sat silent, tears and anger meeting in her vocal chords, muting her as they struggled with each other for control.
There was only so much a girl without a heart worth breaking could do.
She kicked him in the shin, forcing him back. The resulting epithets were ignored; they were nothing new.
With a furious calm, she stood.
"A minor point of correction," she said, her tone mild. "I'm one of those people who could never get my heart broken because I only ever notice."
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