violent - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
His violence was in his words. Pax knew everything about her, every perceived flaw, every vulnerability and he knew where to put the pressure. Like twisting a finger in a bullet hole he reminded Olivia of her pains, her worst memories, the times she had felt most abandoned. Should she begin to climb higher he knocked her down - careful criticism of whatever propped up her shallow sense of self esteem always worked so well. In that way Pax kept control, kept her submissive and fearful enough to "love" him.
Only for so long would Lance remain calm, after each rant his inner countdown to his next explosion began. He needed to fight often, part of him craved it. They say that we recreate our childhoods, seek the same disfunction we escaped from, in that case the writing was always on the wall. Karissa would make things perfect, create the chill environment she needed, and she could have it like that until Lance needed stress. Then he would launch at her, tear her apart with a no holes barred attack, there was nothing too low for him to say. After each attack he'd wall himself off emotionally, shut her out, stonewall. He knew she'd crumble, have no choice but to nurture him back to wellness - how else could she find her relaxed life again, feel loved again?
He was an A1 violent creep. He'd beat anyone smaller and weaker than himself to a pulp for saying boo to him, but he'd use his silver tongue to get out of trouble with anyone bigger or stronger. Of course he got his in the end. He beat up someone's sister and her brother came looking for him with a whole gang. They set to him with iron bars and after that he lived his life in a wheel chair and sucked his food through a straw. I hear the best he can do now is give the nurses dirty looks.
He was a liability to be around. When he'd had a few drinks he lost all ability to reason. He'd lash out first and think later. When any other guy would have shrugged and walked away, he's pull a flick knife. Of course, this is New York, there are only so many times you'll get away with that and then someone will pull a gun.
He was a ticking time bomb. Always. Any provocation, no matter how small or insignificant and his temper would blow. His signature move was a solid upper cut to the jaw. I once saw one of his unsuspecting victims almost get their tongue cleaved in half by their own teeth.
There was a cold burning to Ben's rage, an ice that scared Samantha. She'd seen that look in his eye before, but never toward her. It was how he showed hatred, dominance and imparted fear. In one stride he was in her space and she knew a kiss wasn't coming next. For a man he'd have his fist closed already, for her it was an open hand. The impact confused her brain as it rapidly flew to the right, a red welt already rising on the skin. Samantha stumbled backward, falling into the vase by the front door, tears already welling in her eyes, hand raised to the injury. He wasn't done. In another stride he was over her, sweater held in his fist, face contorted into a version of him Samantha knew she'd never forget. "I said leave it!"