Kami placed the meal down on the table in front of her husband, hoping this time there would be no bubbling up of anger from the depths of him like lava. Red hot and brutal.
A furore of spit exploded from his mouth when he was enraged. He leapt up from his chair, maddened by frustration when Kami blocked only a sliver of the screen he loved more than her.
He gripped the steering wheel so hard, she thought his knuckles might break through the dark, ashen skin that covered them. ‘One day,’ she said, ‘they will break through me.’