Shut… up. Shut up. Shut …up. Dear God, please make him shut up.
Horrified by her thoughts, Ann reversed direction and instead of reaching toward the shelf to put away a glass she’d just removed from the dishwasher, she filled it with water and drank deeply, trying to drown the words before they could escape into the air.
Don’t say it. Don’t even think it, she admonished herself. Her face warmed from the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins as she struggled to get her emotions under control. The deep undeniable anger she was struggling with was unwarranted and she couldn’t understand why it was surging through her now. They’d been through hell the past several months, but all that was over and things were getting better.
This is so wrong. What’s happening to me?
The words ‘fight or flight’ popped into her head.
What happens when you can do neither? She wondered, sudden tears coursing down her face and sliding off her chin to mingle with drops of icy water she’d spilled on her pajama top.
“Do you hear me?” her father-in-law, repeated, shuffling toward her, the shush, swish, shush of his worn slippers punctuating every word. Suddenly she hated that sound. “I can take my medicine by myself. It’s too much trouble for you.”
“I heard you,” she answered.
The angry thoughts continued … I heard you this time, and the last time and the time before that.