Slamming the door of my room after me makes no difference whatever because he simply opens it and walks in, shutting it quietly behind him.
“Get out of my room.”
“Actually,” he says, throwing himself into the chair in front of the fire, “I think we have already established that it’s my room.”
“Then I’ll get the hell out.”
“And go where?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care, as long as it’s far away from you.” God I hate that smirk on his face, as if he’s the master of the world and is