"did i make an error in time?"

"hey hey woah woah, i don't think you're a whore so that's gotta count for something."
he was chewing on the edge of my pillow. a very small swatch of people in my life would be allowed to touch let alone transmit spit onto one of my pillows.
"you not thinking i'm a whore isn't a whole lot of comfort you know?"
"yeah, i guess it's kinda like asking someone on the whore stroll if they're a lady."
he went back to teething on the pillow and looking a head. i was only marginally invested in the conversation due to an extended winning streak in Super Monkey Ball.
"i have friends who are MUCH bigger sluts!"
"mmhmm... oh yes, sluts everywhere andFUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK!"
he clenched into a ball to avoid the controller being flung out of my hands.
"you have all of my attention now. you are not a slut, you don't deserve to be called a slut and you shouldn't dwell on thinking you're one."
"i slept with James."
"OH YOU STUPID WHORE!"
he released the pillow and deftly loped over the arm of the couch before i could grab him. reaching for my pipe case he skittered to the corner trying to look for the fastest way out. if he went for the door i would lock him out and he was in track pants so NO way he'd be seen in public like that. to the hallway certainly meant me sprinting after him like a rhino, gathering speed as my heft propelled me forward. and then there was the balcony. one look and his eyes snapped back to mine.
"23 stories up, what now son?!"
"It... it just happened! I didn't mean for it to happen!"
"You didn't MEAN for your cock to fall out and into an assshole?! Fuck YOU!" the case whirred out of my hand and smashed satisfyingly right above his head.
"You didn't MEAN to slap the nuts to that piece of shit after I spent 2 hours telling you what a soul-sucking harpy he is?! FUCK!"
he was terrified. i don't go off often but when i do there was no escape. it was ugly and so wrought with tension you could taste it in your mouth. the bukkake of rage if you will.
"nathan! calm down!! why are you doing this?"
"I? ME?! I'm the one who...you..." my lips caved into an implosion of twisted expressions and i realized the fuse was running out and i would lapse into my two options: crying so hard that i would hyperventilate or attempt to connect his face to my fist. and everyone LOVES options don't they?
Brad was shaking. Like, real scared and real aware that there wasn't much negotiation room, just wait and see what my next move was.
Instead of butch anger, i felt my face go flush and the enveloping feeling of tears pushing out. i'm ugly at the best of times so tears weren't going to add anything to my appearance. after years of being beaten as a child for emotional displays i was a master at yanking it in to throw up a chin and exit a situation.
and exit i did. i heard brad trailing after me, timid, pausing as we turned the hall for fear that i would rear around and really attack. open the door. shut the door. turn the lock on the door and it's an easy run to the bed to slap my face down before i really lost it.
brad was trying to make contact with small knocks and "c'mon" every couple of seconds. i hate being a queeny diva like this. nothing like having a tantrum to really test how engorged my capillaries can get when i'm bawling like a fool.