Why did life need to be so much about winning? And why did winning need to mean stepping on the face of the people you supposedly loved the most?
“That’s great,” he said, smiling at me. “You should.”
I wanted to slap the grin off his face. Or maybe I just wanted to want that. I wanted to be angry with him. I wanted to take it out on him, all of it, even though I wasn’t even sure what it meant. I just knew that I felt like something was pressing hard against my chest, and that there was equal and opposite pressure coming from within. Between the two, I had no way of winning.