This son of a [i]hitch[/i] is still following you. It isn't easy to turn around and hiss at someone while you're retching, but you manage it anyway because you have never felt so humiliated and scared and angry and confused in your life. Your eyes are streaming washed-out olive, and your vomit is laced with dark green splotches that might suggest internal bleeding that you don't quite care about right now. 

You don't want to trust him. Maybe it's the ridiculous, inexplicable [s]caliginous feelings[/s] (inexplicable what?) that surfaced when you fought this troll. Maybe it's just well-placed fear of pretty much all trolls. But your pride hasn't gotten you anywhere. In fact, you're fairly sure it's dead. Plus, maybe letting this dude help you will result in something like your fan fictions. 

But definitely not the red half. Never the red half. 

"Maybe I do," you say, in a low growl.