"You really don't have to be here," I tell Hanzo, who watches a movie with me at my forever-vacant home.  

"Go to the Spring Carnival, Della. You don't even have to dress up!" he protests. Hanzooriginally came here to make me go to the carnival, but I told him to "just watch the rest of this movie with me" two movies ago. 

I flash him an evil eye. "I don't want to go and see people. They're going to give me their sympathy and tell me stories about their dead relatives and I don't have time for that crap. I mean, my mom wasn't even a good mom." 

"Come on, Del," Hanzo coos. "Blood is blood – she was still your mom. And sitting here, watching movies and eating ice cream and doing nothing is going to do make you fat and miserable." 

"Wow, I feel so enlightened. You're totally right, Hanzo. Let me get up and run to the carnival now," I snap, reaching the bottom of the tub of red velvet ice cream with cookie dough bits. "The bottom of the tub is always the hardest part to finish." 

Hanzo rolls his dark eyes and stands from the couch. "Come to the carnival. You'll feel better, and then we can get the gang back together and find out who's going around killing and kidnapping our friends and family." 

"Get the gang back together?" I display as much disgust as I sound. "You mean Reyna?"

 "She feels bad," Hanzo supplies.

 "Then she should've told me," I justify, stabbing at my melting red ice cream. 

 "She did," Hanzo exclaims, losing it a little, which is a rarity for him. 

 "Well..." I shrug. "I don't care." 

Hanzo scowls at me and takes his keys from the coffee table. "Directing the underlying resentment you held against your mom towards Reyna isn't fair and you know it. But hey, if you want to sit here and wallow in your own sorrow, be my guest."

"You don't know anything!" I shout at Hanzo, body heating up with a wild temper I've been known for. "You don't know anything about my mom, or me, or you're precious little Reyna!" I'm standing now, grabbing the closest thing to me: the ice cream tub, sadly. 

"I know you well enough," he renders. "I know you need to let go of your hatred and get over yourself." 

"Get out!" I shriek, holler echoing throughout the empty home. Chucking the ice cream tub at him, I hit him in his head and grab the spoon. "Get out right now!" I throw the spoon, too, which misses right and makes loud noises as it clangs against the wood floor. Hanzo backs up towards the front door. 

 "Adelina-" Adelina...not Della. Now I've hurt him. "-I'm just trying to help! Stop this!" He opens the door but stays in the doorway, where he continues to try and calm me down. "A, c'mon. Relax!" 

I shove him out the door, and someone from the diagonal lot gets their mail, but I don't care if they hear what I have to say next. Causing a scene isn't the top of my priorities right now. "I don't need you telling me how to live my life. How about your mom dies and you see how you deal with it."

A flash of exasperation hits Hanzo straight on. In a low, deadly tone, he says, "She did," before walking away to his car. He opens the door and adds, "Maybe you should start thinking about people other than yourself, or you're going to end up all alone."

The neighbour gapes at the two of us entertained more than horrified. 

I grunt and slam the door, marching into the kitchen to clean up the mess I made. Straypuddles of red ice cream splatter across the floor next to the tub and spoon I threw at one of my best friends. As I wipe it clean, I'm reminded of the blood splatter that came from my mother's decapitated head. Tears fall onto the floor that I normally wouldn't have pressed, but there's no one here to see me cry anymore, so I let it flow. I realize I don't know if I'm crying because of my mother's death, or because I deeply hurt Hanzo. 

In my fit of rage, I forgot about Hanzo's situation. His mom and dad died when he was just old enough to remember their faces and voices. Hanzo was adopted at age 6.