I am doing this.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
The words rush out of me like a wind that can’t be contained, up, up, up, until they’re out, in the open, and I can’t take them back. My heart is beating like it wants to escape my body.
Lowell looks over at me, and for a moment he’s speechless. A very, very sweet moment, but unfortunately just that.
And then his lips curl into a smirk. “Is this about your stupid art thing? Because you can’t prove shit.”
“No,” I say, because even though I’m angry about that, what I’m seeing in front of me is making me furious. “No, this is about what you’re doing right now.”
“This isn’t your business, freak,” he snaps.
I step closer to him, and my fury must be radiating from every fiber of my being or something because he actually shrinks back a little. Not a lot, but enough.
“Seriously, what is your damage? Did your mom not hug you enough growing up? Is that it?” I shoot back. “In what universe do you think it’s at all okay to treat people the way you do? I’d really like to know.” I pause, but when Lowell opens his mouth again, I cut him off. “Actually, no. I don’t care how you justify this to yourself. No matter what, you’re pathetic. And vile.”
“What are you, Queen of the Fags? Their savior?” he snarls. He barks out a laugh. “Oh, I get it. You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“I’m not gay, but the fact that you think anyone should be ashamed to be makes you a total fucking asshole,” I say. “Congratulations on being a miserable excuse for a human being, you ignorant scumbag.”
“Fuck you,” he says back. “You’re nothing but a—”
“No.” I hold up a finger warningly. “Do not even. I am done. I am so done. I swear to God, I am taking you down.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You better believe it.”
Lowell rolls his eyes. “Please. You can’t touch me.”