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I am mad at him. I am fuming. Lying on the edges of the bed, trying to melt into the cold wall and clutching the duvet tight in my fist lest I start banging it against something, I try to control my breathing and stay immobile. I am not going to say anything. He knows. Hours earlier, I asked if we can go out for dinner, to celebrate my finishing of my degree, my leaving of a crappy job, my getting an interview, my return. He said no, and attached a couple of excuses, like being tired, not having clean clothes, not being in the mood. He said we'll get take away and that's that. His word is final, after all - compromise, as such, doesn't exist. I left him, trying not to bang the car door, to meet another for a few hours, to purge his cannot be arsed attitude from my mind and make the most of my visit. A text came saying...

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