"Yeah I bet I am," he agreed dryly. He watched her descend down the steps, scowling. He was drunk enough be annoyed, to be glad that she was leaving and he wouldn't have to deal with those sudden silences anymore. But he was sober enough to know he wasn't being very sensitive. Also that the car keys were still in his pocket and he should give them to her. So he got to his feet (and hit his head on the ceiling), then made his way down the steps, taking them two at a time. She was already packing up her things like a teenager on the run.
"You're the worst kind of sufferer," he said, practically spat at her. "And you're angry because you know I'm right about that. You're the kind of sufferer that makes sure everybody knows you're suffering, makes it so clear to the rest of the world that you're damaged goods, that you're cracked and broken. But someone who reaches out to you, inquires, tries to get in, you shun them out and you turn cold and you hold your misery close to your chest so no one can see it. But you make sure they know about it." The faintest voice in the back of his mind told him to stop now, because he was drunk and this wouldn't end well. But it was too quiet for him to hear.
"That's why you're alone," he told her, taking a few steps closer, a finger pointed to her. "It's not because you're a wreck, because you've got shit in your closet. We've all got shit. We're all broken, stupid, miserable people with suffering and bullshit. The problem is that you're selfish in your hurt, you're self indulgent. You cling to it like it defines who you are. Nobody will ever get close to you because you're already spoken for... by all that shit you refuse to let go of."
Clumsily, he fished the car keys from his pocket and threw them hard at Daryn. Luckily, he missed, and then tumbled onto the coffee table and then onto the floor. "Why don't you and your boyfriend- that dark storm cloud of self hatred you have shackled to you ankle- go home and have another lonely night together?"