He yelled at the top of his lungs. As he yelled, she screamed louder. They were going toe-to-toe, blow-for-blow in a battle of words aimed at leaving the other gutted on the floor. I don’t think they ever stopped to think about life after this fight. I don’t think they ever stopped to think about how it would feel to hold each other while those words spoken in the heat of rage echo in the recesses of the mind. I don’t think they thought about tomorrow…or even the next hour for that matter.
What led them there? What was the trigger that caused this bomb to detonate? Was it something said? Was it how something was said? What was done to provoke this? Or was the explosion a culmination of bottled up frustrations and irritations that had reached their peak?
He yelled some more. She screamed some more. All respect for one another has gone out the door as words so hateful fly back and forth. They want to stop but don’t know how. They’ve gone too far too fast and have careened off a cliff that doesn’t seem to have a bottom. And suddenly it all comes to an end. Something is said that haults the entire conversation in its tracks. “I’m done.”
It’s so final. It’s so resolute. It’s so jarring to the point that all thoughts run empty and words in queue are immediately deleted. He isn’t yelling anymore. She isn’t screaming anymore. Instead they have retreated to their neutral corners and are both processing what just happened.
(stay tuned for pt. 2)