08-22-2019, 01:32 AM
This time his anger has nothing to do with softness.
It has nothing to do with the quiet comfort he’d found in the way she had lain her head to rest on the ridge of his spine.
This time his anger has teeth and he does not try to fight it.
He does not swallow his impulses now. Instead, the expression goes even darker still. She snaps at him, all vitriol, and, for the moment, he merely stands there and takes it. He lets it pool in the valleys between his ribs. He lets it fester in the pit of his gut. It nfssts the delicate architecture of his lungs.
He does not speak until he is certain she is through. There is a beat of silence that passes between them as he grits his teeth until his jaw aches.
“What do you want from me, Adna?” he asks, almost demands it. His throat is tight and the vise grip tightened around his windpipe is obvious in the tone of his voice. He drags in a shuddering breath. “What the fuck are you so angry at? I don’t owe you anything. I don’t deserve the anger you seem to think me so worthy of.” It is not an inability to accept responsibility but rather an inherent inability to determine exactly what he’s done wrong.
“I don’t know why you’ve decided to take all of your anger out on me but I’m not your fucking punching bag and I never agreed to be.”
It has nothing to do with the quiet comfort he’d found in the way she had lain her head to rest on the ridge of his spine.
This time his anger has teeth and he does not try to fight it.
He does not swallow his impulses now. Instead, the expression goes even darker still. She snaps at him, all vitriol, and, for the moment, he merely stands there and takes it. He lets it pool in the valleys between his ribs. He lets it fester in the pit of his gut. It nfssts the delicate architecture of his lungs.
He does not speak until he is certain she is through. There is a beat of silence that passes between them as he grits his teeth until his jaw aches.
“What do you want from me, Adna?” he asks, almost demands it. His throat is tight and the vise grip tightened around his windpipe is obvious in the tone of his voice. He drags in a shuddering breath. “What the fuck are you so angry at? I don’t owe you anything. I don’t deserve the anger you seem to think me so worthy of.” It is not an inability to accept responsibility but rather an inherent inability to determine exactly what he’s done wrong.
“I don’t know why you’ve decided to take all of your anger out on me but I’m not your fucking punching bag and I never agreed to be.”