Much opened his mouth to answer, but the answer did not come easily. He panted, heavily, stressed out by trying to figure out who he did hate more, in this second.
It occurred to him, after a moment, that he didn't need to answer her. His chest was still heaving, his breath escaping through his teeth. "Fuck you," he spat the word at her, his palms tingling, and he clenched his hands into fists again to try and deal with it, but the fists just shot another spark of adrenaline through him.