"I am a big boy, Lee," he sneers angrily. "I do not need your concern for my sobriety."

He knows he is now being sullen, childish, defiant, and he snatching his hand -- and the bottle -- away from Lee. What he had drunk was already swirling in his head, and his anger was quick and volatile.

Briefly, somewhere in his mind, he wonders why it is that if they aren't fucking, they tend to be arguing, but the voice is silenced quickly before he can explore the ramifications of that thought.