Amara flopped into her chair, mentally and emotionally drained after the confrontation with her parents. She was still buzzing with the kind of nervous energy that made her want to run ten laps around the building. Or throw something. Possibly both. But instead, she just stared at the ceiling of her small office, wishing it would swallow her whole.
"Eirik? Really? Do they honestly think I'm that desperate?"
[Well, you do have a history of bad decisions.]
"Not helping," she muttered. "Not at all."
[Just stating the facts.]
Amara groaned, rolling her eyes so hard she could practically see her own brain. "Facts, my ass."
