Dan stared at Jimmy and saw a hollow creature staring back at him. Jimmy looked down first, then turned his back around and started piling up the dishes near the sink. He turned on the hot water.
The water ran.
"Yeah, whatever. I don't even know why I said that, I'm sorry."
"So I'm a fucking stranger to you, is that what you're saying Jimbo."
"I'm not saying anything like that. I'm sorry."
"I've known you for nine years."
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dan's voice pitched high. He was quiet for several moments, trying to build his voice together, teetering on the edge of self-control. Jimmy turned off the tap. "Work for you? I act like I work for you? What the hell, man. You're acting really fucking weird lately. It's fucked up. You need to stop taking so many-"
"So many what?" Jimmy interrupted him, turning around, and under his voice there was a roar, a primal heartbeat. Dan's atitude was getting out of hand. This whole situation was escalating to something mostruously blunt.
"So many fucking drugs, that's what."
Jimmy blinked. His face still in every respect, frozen: he had been glazed with an icy one, and for the first time in a very long while he felt his neck warm with embarrassment. But then came the avalanche of his character, together with pupils the size of marbles, and the look of a deranged little man. He grabbed the plates and splahed the lot into the full sink.
"Fuck you. Fuck you, Daniel. You're a cunt," he said, hovering over Dan as his voice escalated, who didn't recoil but also didn't move, looking down at the puddles of soap water on the linoleum.
"Just fuck you. Fuck all of you. It's particularly irrelevant, what I do. It's really irrelevant in comparison. You guys are all gigantic dogs. You're dogs, that's all."
He moved back, looked at the dishes, then at the wall, then by accident at himself, through the window reflection. "A bunch of fucking wankers. A bunch of cock-sucking fucking-"
"-who follow me around like dogs-"
"-and don't even have the slighest idea of what the fuck THEY are doing with THEIR lives-"
Dan's third interruption wasn't verbal: he instead shoved Jimmy face-first into the cupboards. The move was so quick that it knocked him out of his senses; much like a doll that had just been flung across the kitchen. After the thud, there was only silence. Jimmy saw grey dots of light flickering around him, and he held his head while it rung a one-tone, unmoving.
"Go get professional help," Dan groaned, sweeping his hand over the counter to collect his keys. He paused briefly and looked over at Jimmy, who'd gone over to the sink again, supporting himself against the window sill. Then he left.