he clinched his fist and suspended them over the steering wheel.
he clinched his fist. turned to me, teary eyed and angry.
i’ve never seen some one so determined not to strike another human being.
i could see it in his face. he wanted to hit me.
and his restraint not to do so scared me.
I could see him trying to remember why he wouldn’t.
I could see him measure why he should.
'i don't understand why you're so mad' i say, delicately, with ease, to diffuse the situation.
There is a pause. A break. Followed by silence.
He turns his face away. His fist now uncurled.
'because you have gotten in my head' he finally says 'you've gotten in and i need you to get out'
'you pretend as if i don't think about you—-fuck—i don't want to do this—fuck get out of my car—all the time Beckett--i wonder if you are okay, if you've gotten home safely, how you've slept—-fuck get out of my car—-get the fuck out---i hate you—-i worry about your dumb cat—-i want to—-i can't do this—— '
'and now you're saying i'm the reason you want to go away'
‘I’m the cause of all this’
'if you are lying to me right now'
'how did you think it would make me feel—i fucking—swear to gawd— to hear you say you'd rather leave than be near me'
‘what is it about me that—Beckett, get out of my head--- I can’t do this—you are killing me—”