The Heartwood I don't feel the rain or the sun

She did notice him stiffen, but she assumed it was just the anger she heard in the words he spoke next. Not in a million years could she have guessed the real reason for his muscles tensing against her—lucky for him.

It was her turn to stiffen as he promised to kill the monster for her—right in front of her even, like she was some damsel in distress who needed a big strong man to take care of all her problems. Despite the tears and the strange behavior, she was not weak and incapable of seeking her own revenge, and his words were the exact opposite of what she wanted to hear. Why did no one offer to assist her in finding the asshole? It was always that they could kill him for her, and it only made her feel worse about all of it. She didn't want everyone to think she was as broken as she felt. 

And like old times? Like old times? Nothing would ever be like it was before, she was sure of that and bringing it up only made her irrational anger grow. She whipped her gaze back to him, her glare searing into the gold of his own gaze. I'm perfectly capable of getting my own revenge, she spat at him. I don't need you to do that for me. I'm not weak. If she kept telling others that then maybe she would believe it herself some day. And things can't go back to how they were because I'm not the same and you can't seem to ever tell me the fucking truth.