When he turned his head to cough, Violet noticed a bit of white scar tissue, a bitter reminder to her that this man had survived where her fiance had not. Listening to his recounting of her fiance's final moments, Violet closed her eyes and winced in pain. In her mind's eye, she could see it, her beloved Derek's agonizing last minutes of life. Shot in the stomach, then hit with shrapnel from a grenade. So much pain, such a violent way to die... yes, he died for his country and for the other men in the platoon, and she knew that no amount of wishing could ever bring him back, but in addition to her tears, she felt an irrational, irresistible anger welling up inside her.
Unconscious of the tears that had spilled over onto her cheeks, she opened her eyes and looked directly at him, unable to speak for over a minute. What the hell else was left for her to say to him? This wasn't exactly the kind of story one thanked another for telling. Her stomach hurt so much that she wanted to double over in pain, but she kept herself upright for the time being. Instead, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts, clutching the sides of her sweater as though she would fall to pieces otherwise.
"Get out," she said, her voice choked with anger, pain, and tears. "Just get the fuck out."