Damon's P.O.V.
I don't understand humans.
Don't get their morals, don't get the way they think. I don't get their abundant stupidity.
They are so fucking stupid.
I let my gaze return to the old man who is still shouting at me, one fat finger pointed in my direction while he tries to 'put me in my place'.
I zone out. Amelia claims I do that a lot, sometimes too much.
It was something I mastered as a kid. If I don't and allow myself to actually listen to people, I get angry. The anger caused by the bullshit people usually spew on a day-to-day basis.
So I zone out, for their own safety.
I look across at Peter who was sitting next to me, in a wooden, office chair identical to my own. He was crying. Peter was always fucking crying. I don't understand how it's possible to cry this much, to still have so many tears in such a tiny body.
