Outbursts...

[sandandwater]

"Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead." - Angelus from Buffy The Vampire Slayer

The small studio was a mess. Broken glass of every imaginable color covered the floors. Works in progress or even fully finished pieces now ruined. Destroyed by the hands that made them.

“No!” She shrieked the word like an angry child, and like a child she too was in the middle of a tantrum. “Of all the stupid, rude, inconsiderate, ridiculous…no! I’m not doing it.”

There was another crash, more shattered glass on the concrete floor of her studio.

Stubborn. Angry. Violent.

A satisfying crunch as she stamped her foot over the not quite destroyed curve of a bowl.

“He can go to Hell, the selfish, arrogant…how dare he ask me…now…after all these…NO!”

A vase went flying, smashed against the cinderblock wall.

“Arrrgh!” There weren’t words left for Pippa to express her rage, primal sounds and frustrated noises were all that spilled from her lips, tore from her throat as she swept an arm across the table. Clattering bottles, tools, powdered chemicals…they all tumbled to the floor in a resounding crash cum crunch, scattered farther as she kicked at the heap.

“I hate you!” That angry hiss was what it took for the emotional tide to turn. Tears fell, hot and stinging and she couldn’t wipe them away fast enough. Trembling hands, shaking shoulders, chest heaving as she fought against sobs. “I hate you…I hate you…I hate you…”

She sank to the floor, ignoring the jagged glass that pressed through the knee of her jeans and into her skin. Pippa’s focus was on the crumpled sheets of legal stationary. Documented requests from…she snatched the balled up paper from the floor and held them tightly to her chest. Tried to breathe. She didn’t hate him. Could never.

She hated what he didn’t do back then. Hated what he was asking now. But the man? He was someone she’d always love. Yes, he had hurt her. Broken her in ways she hadn’t known possible back then but he also gave her so much, showed her there was more to life than what she had lived. He made her stronger, strong enough to walk away to be herself.

Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it was gratitude. It was…something. Something she couldn’t hate him for because without him, without those experiences she wouldn’t be here now. Wouldn’t have the happiness she’d found.

As she mulled these things over, calmed herself, Pippa smoothed the pages against the cool floor. Reread them. Shook her head. No, she’d not be filling the request. She may owe him a lot but she didn’t owe him this. In this matter her obligations were to someone else entirely and Pippa wouldn’t betray her. Her, she did love.

Collected, subdued and once more the picture of propriety that people associated with Phillipa Kerr, the red headed woman stood. She looked around her studio, blinking and a bit taken aback as if this was the first time she’d noticed the destruction she’d caused. No matter, she’d clean it up, set the space to rights and no one would be the wiser.

Just as she’s always done.