Edge of composure
His voice grows louder, more chaotic, as he attempts to tear down the wall of my silence. Every insult, every accusation, is like a hammer against my resolve, but I don’t give him what he wants. My fists clench at my sides, my breath shallow, but my voice remains locked behind clenched teeth. I feel like I’m at the very brink—my mind begging to fight back, to unleash the fury he’s earned. But I don’t. I hold the line, refusing to let him shake me.
His eyes scan mine, desperate for a flicker of emotion—anything he can use. But I give him nothing. My silence becomes my greatest weapon, denying him the chaos he craves. I think to myself, “You’re not worth the pain,” even as adrenaline surges through me. The urge to break is strong, but my will is stronger. By not engaging, I’ve taken control of the moment. It’s a small, personal victory—proof that I can face his storm and remain unbroken.
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