Nina took another sip of her juice, studying me over the top of the carton. "It's weird, though," she continued, her head tilted. "When you get like that, all quiet and focused... you're actually pretty normal."
She put her juice down, her gaze turning more serious, more analytical. "When you fought back against Ronnie that day, you weren't freaking out. You were calm. Brave, even. Is that... is that the side of you that comes out when you're afraid to get hurt?"
The question hung in the air between us.
'Afraid to get hurt?'
My brain latched onto the words. My first instinct was to deny it. I wasn't afraid. I was just handling it. That's what I'd told myself.
But then I thought about it. Really thought about it. The feeling I'd had when Ronnie was sitting next to me, spitting his pathetic insults. It wasn't fear. It wasn't panic. It was a cold, quiet calm. A feeling of control.
