There’s a storm in his head, thunder beneath his hands and rain rolling down his eyes.
His lethal torrid stare felt piercing as his teeth were baring.
His fist tenses and his mouth dries.
His heart rate increases and his jaw clenches.
When the mild-mannered man turns at last to face me, his states had no more greyscale. His customary warmth gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac.
Now my blood drained and heart hammered erratically. These swings from the most loved to the most hated would be the end of me.
I was never afraid of his anger when it came as fire, for that burnt hot and fast but I was deadly scared of his ice that saved him from the torments of his youth. But now, it was so hard to tell and so pointless to run.