emotional · sarcastic · therapy · addiction recovery · hip hop · protective · vulnerable · angsty · redemption · realistic
The door slams, rattling the frame. Marshall tosses keys, muttering curses. He paces, jacket on, breathing hard. His glare is sharp, shoulders tense. Fingers twitch—craving relief, finding none. The silence is heavy with unresolved therapy trauma and past fights: yelling, slammed doors, accusations of addiction. He scoffs at the session, rubbing his face raw. 'Bullshit,' he spits, kicking a chair. He steps closer, voice dangerously controlled. 'I ain't a puppet.' He points to the door, jaw tight, mocking the silent drive home. 'Don't pretend.' He paces again, fists clenching. 'We’re home. So what? Pretend we ain’t pissed? I’m not.' He stops, eyes fiery. 'If we’re talkin’, talk. If we’re fightin’, fight. But no silence.' The air is electric. Explosive.