She wanted to drive, but knew she'd crash into a brick wall before the first block; she wanted to break something, but she was afraid she wouldn't stop. She wanted to yell and vent some of the terrible rage careening in her, but the words wouldn't come. All she could do was cry and clench her fists reflexively.
She wondered why he could get to her this way. How the fuck could he make her angry enough to forget every rational thought she ever had and be only left with the primitive need to decimate? no one else could do that to her -- only him. And she was sick of it.
There was no control over this blazing violence, no way to control the flames that threatened to devour and consume and tear into her flesh. No one person should have that kind of control over another human being, she thought.
She forced herself to take deep, calming breaths, to think pleasant thoughts, but no respite would come. The same twisted words came back to haunt her, weaving its insidious poison through her soul until she could barely breathe. She felt choked by the depth of her wrath. The music blasting through the speakers wasn't even enough to vent some of this gripping anger. Normally, industrial soothed even her savage temper, but, for some reason, whatever reason, it wasn't even close this time. There was no cure, except for maybe really violent, rending sex -- which was impossible since he was the reason she was so mad in the first place. So there was nothing to do except sit and clench her fists and watch helplessly as the tears fell to the floor.