Mattie watched as the door was propped up. Maybe she should have been relieved at the privacy they had again, but she wasn't, because now here they were again at square one: Nick at her doorstep, completely uninvited, now evidently angry at her over over the justified assault from moments before. It rekindled her fury, made her snarl and back away from him. Like an animal. 

"Don't you [i]dare[/i] act like this is my fault!" she raised her voice to the point of it cracking; she was unafraid of neighbors hearing the argument. "You just up and fucking [i]left me[/i] without any warning, without even telling me why! I worried myself sick about you! Those first weeks without you, I––" She restrained herself: mentioning her emotional reaction to Nick's absence three years ago would only make her seem weak, and right now she wanted to intimidate him. So she picked herself up again, her incisors flashing as she spat more words. 

"And then you come back here like some kind of fucking [i]stalker[/i] and expect those stupid little fucking flowers to make me forget everything! Did you expect me to treat you like a good old friend?! Did you expect me to suck your dick right then and there?! And speaking of that––" she paused, very briefly, only to take in a breath–– "why'd you come back anyway, huh? Were you not getting enough pussy out by yourself? Poor little [i]fucking[/i] Nicholas! 'Wah wah, the only people I can get to touch my crotch are the herpes-positive hookers out back of the dry cleaners, sure wish Mattie were here!'" 

For a moment as she picked up the bottle of vodka, it looked as if she were going to smash it or throw it at him. She knew better, taking a very impressive several gulps of the stuff. Then she set it down, hard. 

"Grow the [i]fuck[/i] up," she concluded her tirade with a growl prickling her throat. "You can't just up and leave someone, only to visit when it suits you. Get out of my house."