He crushed the contents in his stone bowl into a fine powder, using his grinder as a knife and stabbing at the grains.
“Woah, woah, woah, slow down there, buddy. We’re not trying to stab here, we’re trying to grind,” said the teacher. “Just,” she grabbed his wrist, holding firm to the grinder, “slide the grains into the stone. It’ll do the job for you,” she said as she moved the grinder gently towards him, once, twice, three times…
She let go. His heart, still hammering his chest from the before the attack, pounded more steadily, mocking him.
He knew the teacher was trying to calm him. But not even the close vacinity her boobs had been to his head could pierce his stubborn mood. He was angry. This was just a good excuse to take out his frustrations… Couldn’t she let him have that?
He returned to stabbing. “Woah, woah, woah –”
“No!” he snapped at her. “I’m mad! That fucking bitch –” He stopped himself. He wanted to get his frustrations out, but not if it meant shouting out his fucking feelings to the world.
“Okay, you’re obviously mad about something. Why don’t you take a break outside. You can come back in in five minutes,” she said.
This was an embarrassment. He hated her for this. He stalked slowly from the room.