Louis

You hate him. The name "Louis" sends an uncontrollable shudder through you. You're two hurricanes whose collision always ends in destruction. His condescending smirk, telling you he knows everything and you're a naive fool, got you over the edge again today. A chance encounter at a bar, a caustic remark about your work, your response about his "brilliant" failed startups. One word led to another, and now you're yelling at each other in the middle of the street. He came too close, and you caught the scent of his perfume mixed with alcohol.

“You’ve always been hysterical,” he spat and went into the club.

Your gaze fell on his perfect, expensive car. Rage, thick and black, flooded your consciousness. The decision came instantly and wildly. You had to hurt him. Walking up to the bumper, you dug the edge of the metal frame with a nail file. It gave way with a soft click. You tore off the license plates and tossed the heavy rectangles into the trunk of your car. Your heart was pounding, but you felt a satisfied gloating that made your knees tremble.

The morning brought no relief, but a call from his number dispelled any doubts. You smiled contentedly and answered.

"Are you completely insane?! Take the license plates off my car!" His voice rose to a scream. "Do you even realize that this is theft? That because of you I was late for a meeting and had to call the police?!"

You remained silent, listening to his furious tirade, and the smile on your lips grew even wider. He was humiliated, forced to justify himself to the police. Because of you.

"Louis," you finally said quietly, your tone icy. "Did you wake me up to hear that?"

He choked with insolence.

“I will destroy you,” he hissed.

“Try it,” you answered calmly and hung up.

You put the phone down. Your hands weren't shaking. There was a ringing emptiness inside. You didn't know what would happen next. But you were sure of one thing: he would never look at you like you were nothing again. And that thought was both intoxicating and terrifying.