Her words were vicious, spiteful, hated despite the sweet, sympathetic tone she used to deliver them, and he didn't let himself flinch, didn't let his expression change. He was as well-schooled as a gargoyle, his body rigid and taut, his eyes narrow even when she touched him. You'd go mad... completely feral... have to be put down. His heart thundered under her hand, too fast for a human heartbeat.
There was anger inside him welling up like froth, and he gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. "You think there's goodness in there?" he asked, biting the words off, defiant, desperate to prove her wrong. "You think I'm some goddamned charity case that's just misunderstood?"
He pulled away from her tender touch and swung, his fist colliding with the plywood wall behind himself. The move was so quick her eyes would barely be able to follow it, and a resounding crack meant either the wood or a bone in his hand had broken. Bets were on the wood, though. "FUCK!" he screamed, and the sound was hardly human at all; it was too deep, more of a bellowing roar than anything that should've come out of a boy his age, and spit foamed between his teeth as he pulled away from her, retreating into the shadows, into the maze. Toward his room, his sanctuary. His vision was more blurred than usual, though he had no knowledge of the tears coursing from toxic-green eyes and wetting the intricate tattoos on impossible cheekbones; instead he screamed again, pushing the breath from his lungs, a snarl of rage as he threw open the door to his sanctuary. The little room with the pallet of laundry he slept on, the discarded and unwashed sheets he used as a mattress, the sweatshirt wadded up for a pillow; the ashtray with leftover cigarette butts overflowing from it, a bottle of water half-empty, an iPod.
"I'm going to fucking kill him," he said without turning to face the doorway, his shoulders heaving, his breath hard and desperate through those wildly-flaring nostrils. "I'm going to fucking kill him. He knew and didn't tell me. You knew and didn't tell me," he said, whirling to see her. He knew she'd follow; it was her way, and they hadn't been far from his room to begin with. "My whole goddamned life I've been like this, and my cunt of a mother didn't fucking tell me who I am, and you two knew and now you think I can get better? It's who I am, you fucking whore, you can't cure this!" he yelled, teeth bared at her, vicious. A hurt animal backed into a corner, lashing out in anguish over the knowledge of his own otherworldliness. He'd known he was something, but he hadn't known what... but to hear this, that he had a curse, that he would go blind and then insane and be killed all within a normal human life span... it was more than he could process rationally.