Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. She could only stare, taking in the confession that hung in the air, palpable andshattering. It didn’t last long. Angela's skepticism was a blade, her disbelief a sharp edge against Will's exposed truth.
"You really expect me to believe that?" Her voice was ice, her posture rigid against the headboard.
"Angela—"
"Save it, Will." The mockery seeped from her words, thick and venomous. "I've heard enough of your excuses."
"Excuses?" His eyes darkened, the hurt evident. "You think I'm lying about this?"
"Wouldn't be the first time," she spat.
The room seemed to shrink with the intensity of her accusation, walls closing in on him, trapping him.
"Damn it, Angela!" His fist hit the mattress, frustration booming. "Why can't you just trust me?"
"Trust?" She laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "That's rich, coming from you."
"Stop it!" His voice rose, the plea dissolving into anger.
"Make me!" She challenged, her eyes sparking fire.
"Is that what you want?" He threw his hands up, the gesture one of defeat. "To push me until I break?"
"Maybe I do." Her tone was lethal, each word a calculated strike. "Maybe then you'll stop lying through your teeth."
"God, you're impossible!" Will shot back, the last of his restraint snapping.
"Right, because I'm the problem here." She sneered, leaning forward, her face twisted with scorn. "Not the impotent husband who can't satisfy his wife because he sleeps around."
"Enough, Angela!" He moved away, the space between them charged with unspoken wounds.
"Where are you going?" Her challenge followed him as he paced the room, a caged animal seeking escape.
"Anywhere but here," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.
"Run away, then!" She taunted. "Like you always do!"
"Running is better than this insanity." His retort was a low growl, the sound of a cornered man.
"Admit it. You're cheating." Her accusation was a dagger aimed at his heart.
"Believe what you want." His shoulders slumped, surrendering to the impossibility of reason.
"Believing lies is your specialty, not mine." Her words were final, sealing the chasm between them.
Angela's hand shot out, seizing the glass vase from the nightstand with manic energy. It hurtled through the air, missing Will by mere inches as it shattered against the wall. Fragments cascaded down like glittering rain.
"Damn it, Angela!" Will sidestepped another incoming missile—a book this time—its pages fluttering helplessly to the floor.
"Look at you," she spat, her voice seething with contempt as she grabbed the next available object, a framed photograph. "So pathetic, pretending it's the drugs."
"Angela, stop!" He lunged, trying to intercept her flailing arms.
"Stop?" She laughed, a hollow sound devoid of any true humor. "Why? Because you can't handle the truth?"
"This isn't you." His plea was earnest, eyes searching for the woman he knew beneath the fury.
"Isn't me?" She threw the picture, the glass cracking on impact. "Or is it just not the docile wife you want me to be?"
