I felt anxious and stupid, endlessly hoping Paul didn't hate me yet, if he doesn't by now. But he's right, I've been dramatic lately...yet he can't blame it all on me; my health has been shit. My stomach's been ill making me vomit almost daily and for some reason I'm always exhausted, but did he notice? No! of course not because he's hardly here anymore, I won't take it any longer.
Then the door swings open, in he walks soaked from the storm slamming it behind him, I shake. His burning eyes pierce me instantly as he asks "What did you say?!"
I act confused so he proceeds taking a firm grasp of my arms, "let me go!" I protest trying to no avail to free myself. 
"You called me a fucking rapist?!" I just glare into his solemn face with fear. 
"Do you think this is a game?! Grow up Rachel, this is real life! I'm not your dad, I'm not here to deal with your temper tantrums or bullshit! Its over."
For a second I don't know whats happened, and then the sickness takes over, I throw up all over his damp cold leather.