Why can’t I hide from John? Maybe it’s because he knows the woods too well, or maybe it the fact that I can’t hide black behind green. Too late for another spot; he sees me. I brush the dirt floor off my pants and walk slowly toward him.
John: God, why do you do that?
Clearly he was angry with me, but angry enough for his bad temper?
John: God, Katie, quit scaring me. I hate when you run away.
Me: Why can’t I run if I don’t like you?
John: Because I said so. God.
Me: Are you angry?
John: Do I look angry? Dammit, Katie.
Me: I tried to tell you I didn’t like you.
Suddenly he got up in my face, pulling me by my sweatshirt collar closer to him. I unclenched his hand and took a step back quietly.
Me: Would you please not do that?
John: I do what I please.
Me: You already got me back here. Don’t make it worst.
John: Oh, trust me…you don’t want to see worst.
He was up in my face again and I didn’t like it. He spit his words in a hiss and glared with one blue eye closed.
Me: I hate you.