Speed Up

“Pack up.” I nearly leaped out of my skin as Ethan slammed his hands onto the table. My bowl of cereal skittered across the wood, milk splashing over the rim and spraying my face. I squeezed my eyes shut for a long moment, feeling the cool liquid drip down my cheek. When I opened them, I didn’t yell. I simply set my jaw and leveled a cold, hard glare at him. Ethan flinched. He backed away slightly, his hands raised in a half-hearted gesture of surrender. I rolled my eyes, reached for a napkin, and began dabbing the milk from my face and chest with deliberate, slow movements. “Ethan, what did I tell you about the violence?” I asked. He let out a sigh and muttered a curse under his breath, which drew my gaze back to his. He bit his lower lip, his expression a mask of irritation. He pulled out a chair and sat across from me, his fingers drumming a frantic, impatient rhythm on the tabletop. I raised an eyebrow, silently demanding that he find his center. Ethan was still at war with himself