"What do you want to say this time around? Did you forget another word you were supposed to say to me?" Eva questioned, her voice cool and clipped.
"Not at all," Dante replied, eyes focused on her. "I've come to apologize."
Eva blinked, taken aback. She hadn't expected that. Not from him.
"I shouldn't have said you chickened out. I shouldn't have yelled at you," he admitted, his voice low and heavy with guilt. After their fight the other day, Dante had been plagued with confusion. He hadn't even fully understood why he'd reacted the way he did. It was only later, when the anger wore off, that the guilt began to settle in. He realized how much he'd hurt her. She'd been a victim, and he hadn't even asked what had happened to her. Instead, he'd lashed out.
The way she'd glared at him had struck something in him. Her pain, her rage, it was more than just defiance. It was a wound reopened.
