"Are you?!" Harley asked. Or maybe demanded. It sounded like a demand. "You took what you heard and decided that was me putting myself down. But what do I care if a buncha bozos with bad taste don't like me? I don't like 'em either! I don't care! If they get annoyed, good! A lot of the time I annoy them on purpose 'cause that's what they deserve! I wasn't talking about people I want to like me."

Those people were a whole different, far more complicated story.

She snorted. It was loud. "But you... You just couldn't wait to get to, what? Berating me for having poor self-esteem? Which I do, but not around whether complete idiots fuckin' like me, Pam! And I am sick of people tryin' to tell me what I'm allowed to feel or say."