“You’re brandishing that cake like a weapon, a weapon of love and remorse, Thelma, and I still won’t for the world manage to rip it out of your arms and throw it out the window as I should. Now, on my birthday, you show up with this syrupy brown thing out of a box and expect me to forget it all – the scorn, the ill treatment, the belittlement of my feelings, the I-don’t-give-a-shit, couldn’t-care-less attitude. And why? On a whim? You’re going to be whimsical and love me, Thelma? For how long? Tell me, for how long? – And how dare you come in here after forbidding me to ever touch you again!”
She stood immobile for a good long time.
Eventually she said, very quietly, “Have it your way, Ethan. I won’t bother to tell you why I’m here. You seem to know it all too well.”
She put the cake down on his desk and returned to the living room, which had become her room in this small, hellish apartment they shared.
– James Steerforth (© 2011)
Written around brandish, forbid and manage from 3WW.