A/n: This is some sort of a sequel to Almost endearing. I strongly advice those who haven't read that yet to do so before continuing Feeling guilty, which is written from the opposing POV i.e. the speaker here was the subject of Almost endearing and the other way around. This speaker uses slightly coarser language, so consider yourself warned.

Feeling guilty

For Shan.

I don't mean to betray you, you just leave me no choice.

We should talk about this.
About us. But you can't even be bothered to look up from whatever pretentious newspaper you're reading this time.

Sure you're more literate than I am, better educated.
I already know that – no need to rub it in.

My oatmeal's turning cold; can't bring myself to eat it. You don't even try.
We both know my cooking skills are terrible and I bet you could do so much better.

If you wanted to.

We're almost out of sugar.
Why you keep eating it, I don't know.
You're still as sour as ever.

You just love your paper in the morning.

I try to ignore you like you do me, but there's no point in giving you the silent treatment;
You always manage to out-silence me.

Besides, I can't keep my eyes off of you, can I now?
God, I'm such a sap compared to you. I always thought I was tough, before we met.

You're not even reading the news. You're just staring at the pages so you don't have to look at me (because, of course, I'm not half as easy on the eye as you are).

You bastard.

Look at me, damn you!

The bowl almost smashes when I throw the spoon back into it, you don't so much as blink.

If I'm such a bore, then why don't you just throw me out?

And you tell me I'm ridiculous.

Determined to annoy you back, I drum my nails against the table. I know you hate that even more than when I tap my foot.
Still, it seems to have no effect.

You're such a good pretender. Sipping your OJ like nothing's the matter.

Just forget about it, there's no point.
We'll talk later.

Ha! That's really bloody likely...
I almost laugh out loud.
Then roughly shove my chair back.
Sweet Jesus, you've got me taking it out on furniture.

I gather my things and kiss you.
On the cheek.
It's been ages since I've aimed for your mouth.

You push me away and flick through that damned paper again.

I look at you.
Just a second too long.
Wondering what's wrong with you and why on earth I'm still here

You know I don't want to go, but you just leave me no choice.
I slam the door, get in my car and escape to some place better.

We both know I'll -
At the end of the day...

I'll be back.
Feeling guilty.