he’s never done anything to me. but i want to break his nose and make him bleed.
looking at him, i can’t help but remember another face, another time, and a worse offense than what he (almost) did to my friend.
in my alcohol-fueled daze i imagined standing up, my eyes meeting his chest despite my 4-inch heels. that fact that he was bigger, stronger and probably more sober than me, never crossed my mind as i swung recklessly at his arrogant, perpetually smirking face. i could almost feel the crushing snap of my fist as it met its destination. i could almost hear his surprised gasp and the expected, ‘what the fuck, rose?’ that was sure to follow. only god knows what could have happened next. perhaps a concerned friend stepping in? screams to stop? a blow returned and all-out fight?
but even in my inebriated state, i still managed to find the control and good sense to stop before i did something so monumentally stupid.
and as i rode the cab home, i felt just as helpless as i did that night long ago when there was nothing i could do to make things better. all that’s left of last night is a churning stomach and a headache that refuses to go away and the itch that i still want to start a fight.