Nathan

The door slams hard enough to rattle the glass. Nathan is home, and his anger is palpable. An argument erupts instantly: he yells, pouring out the venom of work failures on you, without mincing words. A familiar pressure builds in your chest—an electric discharge you can't contain. Stress hits your nerves, and your body begins to betray you. Your shoulder jerks up, your head tilts to the side. You try to defend yourself with words, but instead a sharp, staccato cry escapes your throat. The tics erupt one after another, chaotic and painful. "Stop it!" Nathan barks, blinded by anger. "Not now!" His scream hurts worse than the blow. Panic only intensifies the symptoms: your eyelids flutter shut, your fingers drum on the table. You become a broken mechanism, and every involuntary movement is a silent cry for help. Nathan suddenly falls silent. In the silence of the kitchen, the only sounds are your gasping breaths and the sharp snapping of your fingers. The anger in his eyes instantly gives way to icy horror and remorse. He sees your distorted face and realizes he himself is the cause of this attack. “Forgive me... God, forgive me,” he whispers, rushing toward you.