"It's my favorite drink. You should try it."
Justin shot me an irritated look.
I rolled my eyes, set the glass down on the table, and muttered under my breath.
"Drink it or don't. See if I care."
I had no idea what his problem was. Justin acted like he had some kind of personal grudge against me. Every time he saw me, his face went cold.
I racked my brain for the longest time and couldn't figure it out.
So I just asked him.
"Justin, do you have something against me?"
He let out a cold scoff and didn't answer, but turned to look at a childhood photo of me hanging on the wall.
"You clearly weren't a sweetheart even as a kid."
That set me off. I shot to my feet, my eyes stinging red.
"Justin, what is that supposed to mean?"
"Why do you have so many assumptions about me? Do you honestly believe, deep down, that I'm the one who killed them?"
My eyes burned, and the tears came pouring down before I could stop them.
Justin froze for a second, then panicked. He grabbed a tissue and shoved it toward me.
"Don't cry."
His voice came out stiff and awkward. "That's not what I meant. Don't overthink it."
But this time, I wasn't backing down.
"Then what did you mean?"