Mateo hates that his eyes are burning and that his throat feels tight enough that it's hard to breathe, let alone speak. He hates that being so frustrated has brought tears instead of the anger that he wants to feel, and by the time Remi catches up to him he's scrubbing his hands across his face, as if he can rake them away the same way as he's been doing to the leaves.
"Cosa c'è da spiegare?," he huffs miserably, the words trying to catch in his throat. "Non ti importa di nessuno. vuoi che abbiano paura di te. Capisco." He doesn't want to turn and look at his father for fear that his tears will seem boring to him.
"Ever has dinner with his parents every evening. And he has a time when he has to go to bed. And he's not allowed to eat junk all the time, and he can't go out until he's finished his homework," he blurts. "And I thought it would be nice to know what that is like for one time."
"Cosa c'è da spiegare?," he huffs miserably, the words trying to catch in his throat. "Non ti importa di nessuno. vuoi che abbiano paura di te. Capisco." He doesn't want to turn and look at his father for fear that his tears will seem boring to him.
"Ever has dinner with his parents every evening. And he has a time when he has to go to bed. And he's not allowed to eat junk all the time, and he can't go out until he's finished his homework," he blurts. "And I thought it would be nice to know what that is like for one time."
