Barging through the door the instant I opened it, I don’t even want to fucking bother asking how she found out which room I was staying in. Cunning never seemed to be lost on her. After taking a few good steps inside she turns around, and I’m planted holding the door open, looking at her incredulously, her appearance here obviously unwelcome and not even worth lending voice to.
“You have *no* fucking idea,” Donna’s voice softly, confidence in each word, “just how mistaken you are.”
“*No*, I’m not. And if you think so, then why didn’t you just tell me this a moment ago on the phone?”
“I couldn’t tell you what I needed to tell you on a cell…”
“Well… whatever you need to tell me, I’m already telling you the same thing; Trish and I have gotten serious now.” The words don’t seem to affect her like I thought they would. They don’t seem to affect her at all, really… “It was…” my thought left trailing as I struggle to find what she’d like to hear.