He stormed out of the house, slammed his car door and sped away. It was a mistake, but it was a better mistake than staying and doing something he would regret more. The anger burned his thoughts, clenched his jaw and urged his foot to press the pedal into the floorboards. Cars honked and drivers yelled. He noticed but didn’t care. They meant nothing to him. Only the rage mattered. Only the fire in his heart mattered.
A small voice in his head told him he was wrong. It told him to calm down and stop. It whispered that she was always faithful. But his anger found the voice and bellowed at it until it cowered and shivered in the farthest recesses of his mind. Then, unsatisfied, his rage pursued the voice of reason, found it, and strangled it with flames until nothing but ash remained.
The driver smiled in triumph and sadness. He’d won and lost and knew both simultaneously. The car tore across the asphalt, leaving tread in its wake as tires sang against sharp corners and sudden halts. The frame shuddered under the strain, moaning and groaning in protest. It would hold together, though. He had put it through worse before.
He’d put them all through worse before and would again. That damn voice of reason was like a phoenix and would eventually come back stronger to soothe away his rage. It was every bit as predictable as the fight had been. The whole process was a cycle destined to be repeated as long as their opposites attracted and their love languages differed. The flames eating his heart began to ebb as exhaustion crept along his nerves and dulled his senses.
Renewed honks reminded him to ease back on the gas pedal. Using the blinker he signaled and then safely checked his blind spots and merged across the lanes of the freeway to continue on in the slow lane. He was too tired to deal with the madness in the others. He was too tired to give them the attention they demanded. At the next off ramp he exited and found the surface streets that would turn him back towards home.
They would apologize, hesitantly, and they would step back into their familiar patterns. In a day or two the chill would disappear from their home and smiles and laughter would return. The upswing of emotions would take control and they would be happy again. They would be. And then one day they would fight again, because the cycle had no choice but to repeat, because that is nature and manner of love… right?