Fury

Shattered glass was spread across the floor. It had been transparent in its original vase form, but ths shreds looked blue under the dusk light. I stood by the door, heaving, still blinded by rage. Olivia was laying on the bed, crying, shaking. Part of me wanted to go calm her down, but another part of me was mad at her. Mad because she insisted on us living together even after I told her I was dangerous. I wanted to tell her that I had told her so. 

I walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, leaving bloody footprints on the floor. I didn't feel the pain, although I knew I had half a dozen cuts. I was numb. I had exploded and nothing was left behind, I couldn't feel anything, not yet. I looked around, the house told the story of my explosion. I didn't remember what had made me angry, irrationally angry, but I was sure it had been something stupid. Olivia had told me that I didn't need to worry over that, that it was nothing. I remember throwing the bag I was carrying against the wall, probably shattering the screen of my phone. She screamed at that and tried to stop me from destroying anything else. Yet, I was past the return point, there was nothing I could do but burn it all, burn it like hell. I pushed her into the room. Her who is taller than me, who is the strong of the two. I pushed her as if she weighed nothing and in her fight she dragged the vase down with her. I remember the pain in my feet as I stepped on the broken glass, and I remember the pain in my hands as I punched Olivia in the stomach. Olivia, the one who loves me, the one I love and have always been so afraid to hurt. I remember the pain, but I also remember the burning desire to hurt, her, myself, anyone. My blood boiled murder. 

I looked at my hands and saw how my knuckles were red and swollen. I started crying. I cried for Olivia and the pain I caused her. I cried for my uncontrollable rage. I cried because I didn't deserve to be loved and yet I was, because nothing could stop me from hurting someone I loved.