"The driest brush burns the fastest," he told me, sipping on scotch.
"Okay," I said, blankly.
Everything but the broken freezer motor paused in the kitchen, as if holding a massive, collective breath.
His eyes broke the silence like a gun. They shot through me and exited out the right side of my skull.
You're such a prick, I thought.
"You're so zen," I said, dumbly.
"I've been left with the crippling task of taking care of you, sugar peanut. Gotta speak your language if you're ever gonna listen."
And then his smirk disguised as concern. The goddamn zen prick.
"So we should probably fix the freezer at some goddamn point," I muttered.
"Such delicate language, sweetie."
He stood up, ruffled my hair, and the distance between us swelled.