Autumn is angry.
I can tell immediately by the way she crosses her arms when she gets into the car.
She doesn't even look at me as she shuts the door.
The silence lasts exactly five seconds.
"You cannot just punch people," she says firmly.
"He deserved it."
"You keep saying that like it's a valid excuse."
"He was running his mouth."
"That still doesn't justify violence."
I start the engine.
"You didn't hear what he said."
"That doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
She turns toward me now.
Her eyes are intense. Their green so piercing.
"You could get into serious trouble."
"I've been in trouble before."
"That's not something to be proud of."
"I'm not proud."
The car fills with silence again.
Then she says something quietly that I wasn't expecting.
"You scared me."
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. I never want to scare her.
"Why?"
"Because I don't know what you're capable of."
That one hits harder than I expect.
"I would never hurt you," I say immediately.
"I know."
"Then what's the problem?"
She hesitates.
Then she says softly,
"I'm scared someone's going to hurt you."
And somehow that feels worse.
Because most people worry about themselves.
Autumn worries about me.
And that kind of care… is dangerous.