Once the double doors closed behind me, I would be thrown slightly forward into the room, before he would stand as an obstacle to the singular escape of this rather romantic room. Yet my eyes would not be allowed to take in the beauty of our surroundings or the view overlooking the city, as my focus would be on this man viewing me somewhere on a spectrum between anger, sadness, and regret. But as he would be waiting for me to speak, his eyes searching me from across the room where he stood, I would bring my arms across my chest to showcase my stubbornness before rivaling him.
“I know you hate me…” His words surprised me as I had expected him to either rush me against the wall or even pull me to the surface of the table; if these tactics had failed or would be reserved for a ‘last ditch e
