I don’t know how to explain what happens next. All I know is that my hand is around Anderson’s throat and I’ve pinned him to the wall, so overcome by a blind, burning, all-consuming rage that I think my brain has already caught on fire and dissolved into ash. I squeeze a little harder. He’s sputtering. He’s gasping. He’s trying to get at my arms, clawing limp hands at my body and he’s turning red and blue and purple and I’m enjoying it. I’m enjoying it so, so much. I think I’m smiling. I bring my face less than an inch away from his ear and whisper, “Drop the gun.” He does.
I love it so bad ass
