I could hear a growl coming from him that was lower and more menacing than I had heard before. He shook visibly as he faced away from me with hunched shoulders and clenched fists. The anxiety that lay inside me twisted and tightened as I watched him, deadly still, waiting for what would happen next.
I was indignant that he was accusing me unfairly. I wouldn’t take another step until he admitted it: I hadn’t been rude to his friends; I was certain- almost. I started to cry, his frustration (aggression) mounted. We continued to argue, started to yell as rain fell. He raised a clenched fist and shook it in my face with wild eyes before storming off. I followed.
He lifted the bowl and brought it down with great force. White ceramic pieces burst apart and fell, scattered across the carpet around the coffee table. Each jagged fragment looked like a threat.
We argued about something insignificant- again.
“You’re hard work, you know that?”
I hadn’t known, but I started to believe it.