[J follows the ball with her eyes, her brows knit slightly in sudden annoyance. She gets what he’s trying to tell her, or at least she thinks so, but she still couldn’t help but feel like she was being patronized here. The slow and careful rhythm in his voice, the tiny yet breaks and pauses between the words and sentences, almost as he’s trying to find an angle that a small child would be able to follow. ]

You’re again talking to me like I’m some kid. And what you’re saying doesn’t even make sense. I’m not some -- [victim. The word almost escapes between lips but she manages stop herself just in a time, leaving her mouth hanging open as she tries to find way to continue.] -- some.. Ball that’s been kicked around. And how can you be so sure that it wasn’t me who gave the first push?