[He stares, furiously, at her, at what she's writing--at the chalk, at the slate, through the slate. There's a muscle working in his jaw. The twinge feels like it's keeping time with his pulse, which is entirely too fast for someone stood still.
He keeps his silence a moment longer, once she's stopped writing. Fists clenched at his sides, muscle still working in his jaw. It feels hard to breathe, like someone's pushing down on his chest.
All at once, then, he turns and kicks, savagely, at the wall. It's such an impotent and childish movement, but he does it again, too angry to think with any greater clarity--and again, and then he gives up and punches at it instead, once, hard, and his knuckles immediately split under the force of it.]
no subject
He keeps his silence a moment longer, once she's stopped writing. Fists clenched at his sides, muscle still working in his jaw. It feels hard to breathe, like someone's pushing down on his chest.
All at once, then, he turns and kicks, savagely, at the wall. It's such an impotent and childish movement, but he does it again, too angry to think with any greater clarity--and again, and then he gives up and punches at it instead, once, hard, and his knuckles immediately split under the force of it.]