This familiar tug at my fingertips.
To run away. To write you! To call! To talk to you! To convince you!
Remind you about something.
This tug says: We need to renegotiate something. I think we maybe overestimated how awful I am. You are so wrong. I am nowhere near as bad as we agreed. Yeah, we drew up a contract saying "Max Is A Monster". But I'm checking myself in the mirror and I don't think I'm necessarily that evil. This is not "the real me". Or, if it is, maybe it's not so bad.
When I look at my monster face in the mirror, I can't help but smile.