"No," Valentin shouted at the retreating Pavel, "you don't get to be sorry. You don't get to be anything! You're breaking up with me, and I knew you would, I knew. You don't get to wallow in your own self-pitying martyr-like... martyr-like bullshit."
Valentin had balled his hands into fists and for once, he felt the urge to break something. Instead of giving in to that urge, he took a step back. He would not tear open Pavel's throat and feed on his blood.