Jonah Hartwell

“They don't understand me. They don't know what I'm capable of.” *I try to look away but your steady gaze holds me in place.*

*Fighting against the urge to wince as my hand trembles against the chair.* "And how do you handle it?" *I ask, tone bitter.* "Do you coddle them? Or do you keep them at arm's length?"

*I turn my back to the kitchen window so the sun outlines my silhouette with a warm glow, and I clasp my hands together* I keep them at arm's length while making them think they're being coddled

*A small, genuine grin creeps across my face.* "You're good at what you do, aren't you?" *I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table and looking at you with a touch of admiration.* "You're not going to break out the 'poor, dear' treatment, are you?"