Ankyra Sound Sweet dreams are made of this

He kept his gaze away from her, keeping her face within his peripherals as he awaited his lanced words to land. And land they did, like some cruelly twisting spear -- almost immediately Ingram regretted the action, though it was too late to take it back now. He did not know why he was compelled to be so mean or arrogant -- maybe it was him. Maybe it was just him trying to find order in his very unorderly, fucked up life.

Even out of the corner of his eye he could see he had affected her, and for a moment he dwelled on the sharpness in which she returned his vitriol. In that moment he wanted to say he was sorry, but he got too caught up in his stupid pride. It wasn't her fault, she was just caught in the galestorm that was his emotions - and Ingram was a Very Repressed Boy.

"Whatever." He spat back, not liking that he had no cutting riposte for her openly laid report: she was too honest, too good, too everything -- and he could not fight it.

Not fairly, anyway.