Angelina downs another shot of gin. She's angry and annoyed and most certainly not thinking about George Weasley, who is a prick and doesn't think about anyone but himself. Did she mention he was a prick? She downs another shot.
"Angelina," that dreaded voice sighs. "You know better than to drink without me."
"Piss off, George," Angelina snaps. "If I had wanted you here, I would have informed you before hand."
"May I?" he asks, reaching for the bottle, only to have Angelina pull it close to her chest. "Oh, now you're making me jealous of that bottle."
She sticks her tongue out at him. "You should be."
Leaning back in his chair, he studies her. "So are you going to tell me why you're mad?"
Anger flares inside of her. How could he not know why she is mad? It is rather obvious in her opinion.
"Well, for starters, you're using me for sex," she bluntly replies, as he gaps at her. "It's not like you care who you're fucking as long as it's a warm body. And it's not like you ever asked me how I was feeling about all this. No, because I'm Angelina and I couldn't possibly be hurting like everyone else. And you know what the sad part is? If I could do it all again, I would. Because guess what, George? I care about you and if that made you feel better then I would gladly do it.
"But now? After all of this has made me miserable? I would rather be six feet under than within six feet of you. You've caused me so much pain and you don't even realize it. And you know what? I'm done. I'm done being your warm body. I'm done being there for you if you can't be there for me. I'm done pretending that someone I've known for years, actually gives a damn about me. I'm done with it all."
"You don't mean that," George whispers.
"But I do," she replies before standing and marching out of the bar.