Lulu didn't like the look on Jon's face, either. She knew almost immediately what she'd done, by shattering the wine glass -- on purpose or by accident, it didn't matter. Not when enough eyes began looking their way.
I'm awful, she thought fleetingly, semi-exhilarated. The problem with feeling so many things at once was that it couldn't end easily: more appeared, and more, until nothing was straightforward or resolvable. Sometimes Lulu couldn't help herself, which was why she stood so abruptly now. The check had only just arrived, but something about it made her feel ill. Money. Money, money.
I'm awful, she thought again, looking down at him. Her expression bordered on sadness -- true sadness -- but there was anger in it, too, and red was an overpowering color. Lulu didn't know what else to try anymore. She couldn't beg. Maybe she was selfish. Maybe Jon knew that, anyway.
"You can take a walk in Central Park," she told him at last, words clipped. They felt alien, uncharacteristically foreign to her; strange for a person who could make herself certain of nearly anything, if it didn't hurt too much.