Alone, in his head, he swore, he cursed and he fumed. He was justice, incendiary and wroth. He was the wronged party and she who had wronged him would feel his wrath. She would know that she had harmed him, she would bow before her deeds and admit her crimes.The fire, it burned without measure. It was all consuming, all focusing, every single other thought was engulfed and poured like fuel into these flames. How could anyone disagree? How could any person not see the gross injustice, the terrible wrongs he’d endured. To simply pass it off with “Sorry” burned at him more. As if that could make up for all of the pain and the suffering. As if that was any kind of recompense.Controlling it was an effort, mastering the ire to focus it. He let it out in little sharp staccato bursts. Searing his points home where he could, being direct and cutting like a razor. He would exact his vengeance…Then he saw it, saw her eyes. The fury went out of him. The pain he’d held inside, the fire… He’d let it burn her. She was struck by it, burned by it, and in an instant it guttered and died.She was perfect, singular beauty and he had licked her with the flames of his justice. The hurt there was worse pain than any fire inside. He had caused this harm and he wished into the deafening silence that he could take it back. The person he loved had once again been the target of his anger, his words and glares landing upon undeserving beauty.There is no misery like the misery extended. The eruption of anger only gave way to devastation. That he had allowed himself to be so angry and be without mercy to this person whom he cherished endlessly. Now he saw his true worth, now he saw his real value, it lacked any kind of meaningful substance or luster.He knew himself revealed now, petty and stupid. Weak and unable to bare the pain, and now ashamed for who he was and what he’d done. He could not be undone, this person he’d swore to protect, he’d given her a part of his own wound. He could never forgive himself for this, yet again he had failed.There is no pain, like the pain of knowing that you were cruel when you should have been kind. The wound was his, and he was supposed to carry it. He was a fool.