"I missed you," she said, anxiously pulling on the sleeves of her jumper, her expression becoming stern as she added, "You never told me you would be leaving." She was strange like that, he thought. She would be overly saccharine one moment, sweet like chocolate, yet she could be just as bitter in the next instant. Or even the same instant, her hands balling at her fist indignantly, raising her chin the way she did when she attempted to be challenging. It must be exhausting, to feel such different emotions all at once. How did one keep track of their thoughts when one side was begging you to scream and hurt and the other was telling you to rejoice?