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He fumbled as he fell backwards, still somewhat in shock. "I know you enjoy it," he said softly, the disgust sounding faraway in his throat as he felt sick for the discrepancies between the things he was saying now and what happened to him when he was anonymous behind the mask.

A man without an identity is a powerful motive to abandon inhibitions. Violence was not a prevailing aspect of Amery's character-- he was much more subdued about his obsession--yes, obsession-- with it. But it was there. It was undeniable.

But it didn't change the fact that nine times out of ten, it was Grayson who was responsible for something, it was Grayson who needed to learn to toe the line, it was Grayson who--

"It doesn't matter whether or not we enjoy it or whether or not it's a chore. I didn't have a choice, Grayson!" he yelled, placing his hands on Grayson's shoulder and shaking. "You had this handed to you on a silver platter and did whatever you pleased with it! I didn't have a choice."

It was different when it was something you were expected to do and something you had no other choice for. Grayson didn't understand that, Grayson didn't understand how precious freewill was.

"You don't understand anything about that choices I make," he whispered, shoving him.