Already surpassing the gray skies and trembling leaves outside; pain pulled back the skin between her eyes. Tension was settling in, taking second in command to rage; the two mixed like the rain and the wind. At some point the scales would tip, but for right now, the storm outside would have to catch up.
Jill slammed her mug onto the wooden coaster. The hefty thud colliding with the achey pounding. She was sure someone could die from feeling like this. Tensed and stressed and after the past few days, Jill wasn’t sure if she was currently under caffeinated or over. She looked at the dregs, settled into the bottom of the white ceramic cup. Bitter and used.
A small laugh caught in the back of Jill’s throat, ragged with spite and anger, she choked it back. Bitter and used, exactly as Jill felt. Her mind raced with more similarities, each more crass, more vulgar. She didn’t need someone else to tear her down, she could undo all her hard work brick by brick if given enough time.
Sticks and stones might break bones, but bones could set and heal. There were no words that could cut Jill as sharply or as deftly as her own. Not that it ever stopped anyone from trying.
Jill picked up the coffee cup and left her office. Her laptop, water bottle, and window all open. The budding storm outside was still no match for what she felt, what she was inside.
A woman possessed by something, something primal. Each brick Jill tore down from herself, her tension waged it against her; even with the pressure building behind her eyes there wasn’t enough force to be exerted around her. Hinges creaked, countertops moaned, the glass of the coffee pot softly vibrated. . . it all fueled her.
Outside the wind picked up, the scrapping sound of plastic filled the background as the blinds danced. Still, she was more. The blinds bounced off something. Jill walked back to her office. Each finger pressed with white knuckles absorbing the scalding temperatures of the ceramic. She watched as the wind pushed the blinds into her golden pothos. Freshly replanted, now crashing between her desk and the white walls of her office. The smell of dirt swirled into the steam from her coffee. Her grip tightened, it would be better if it exploded.
Jill walked out of her office. Her white knuckles throbbing with her blood vessels as she paced. The weight of her anger bore down with each step. She was certain her footprints were visible on the pad between the carpet and the gypsum. The storm brewed outside, stronger, like Jill’s impending rage. Her heart pumped faster than the birds making their escape to shelter.
Everything inside her was alive. She could feel each breath, each exhale. Currents moved inside her. The first crack of lightening shot through the air, as Jill’s fingers pierced the ceramic. The molten flow of lava mixing with her warm blood.
The storm broke reaching its full rage.