I look up and a second passes before he turns his head away. Completely intentional on his part, of course. With his eyes narrowed and his mouth scrunched into a pout, his glare hits me harder than his fist ever could. Even when I'm in a bad mood, too, that face somehow always upsets me. It conveys a meanness and a hatred that I don't want to deserve and it makes me squirm to shift away the weight of everything I've done.
With everything that's happened between us, he's had a long time to perfect that trademark look. Are all of our problems my fault? …Maybe, but he's no angel either, no matter what he believes.
I keep staring at him until he's compelled to look back at me. I don't know what my face is saying, but my mind is screaming, God, you used to love me, remember?
But aimed at me is that same look, and it tells me everything I know he's thinking:
I don't trust you.
