There wasn't much he could do now. He knew he should've probably left her be in there, waited patiently for her to come out. Maybe go to sleep on the couch. He knew all those things, but he was driven by some strange destructive force now. He wanted to open the door, to face her, to tell her she is selfish and impossible.

And yet, he also wanted to tell her he loved her, but that desire was fading, dripping, oozing away. He felt an urge to yell at the top of his lungs that he loved her, but he thought she'd just get more mad. But boy, did he want to scream! It didn't even matter anymore what to scream. Just scream. Or howl? No, scream.

He opened the door. She sat on the bed, clutching a pillow. Just what I need-- looking cute. He squeezed his jaws together, trapping the scream.

--I'm going to go for a drive. I'll be back, and we'll sort this out,-- the words are coming out like bullets. He knows that she knows that it's not what he wants to say. He can see her eyes defying him to say it. Say it, say it, say it, just try... he is VERY tempted. He fights it.