Those are both so intense, Typo and Sail!

The light snaps off and here we are, the chill night no match for the hard knot of ice in my stomach.

It went wrong somewhere along the line and I don’t know when or where, but all my confusion and sadness has coalesced and compacted to a grapefruit-sized lump of anger so hot it freezes me.

I can feel you shift on the mattress. I close my eyes. We will not talk because we don’t know what to say. To speak is an ending; I am afraid that my ice will erupt forth and shatter you.

It’s dark here.

That's very powerful, MM.

If I might? I'd drop "forth" after erupt. Erupt is such a strong image in itself that "forth" robs it of power. If you want to use "forth," I would use a softer verb.

Otherwise, that paragraph is just gutting.

What Bev said, MM. Excellent work.

My goodness, we're drawing out some good stuff with this topic. Not that we don't always, but this one really seems to have sparked a flame.

just in case you can't see me, I'm sitting over here nodding my head in agreement.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't move and someone lurked in the doorway. He couldn't see who it was in the dark, but he felt the menace.

He strained to lift an arm or turn his head but could only raise his heart rate. This weight on his chest, if he could only move his arms he would be able to push it off and breathe freely. Then he would deal with the intruder.

With herculean effort he gasped and sat up, his body yearning towards the doorway.

The empty doorway.

He turned on a light and waited for dawn. Again.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In. Out.

...

...

Three seconds. Four seconds. Five, six, seven--

I start to reach over.

Snort, snuffle, shift, mutter.

In. Out.

In. Out.

etc.

It's always a seven-second delay. I've timed it hundreds of times. One day it's going to be eight seconds, then nine, and I'm going to reach over and get no response. He swore to me that I'll never wake up to his silent, empty shell, that he won't leave me alone in the dark. It's sweet, but I don't believe he has the power to make that promise. So I time those gaps, waiting, just in case the Dark Angel is minded to put up a fight.

Good stuff, people. I love Ailleann's--yep, been there.

Augghhh!

I finally get my protagonist and antagonist into the same room, for what is supposed to be the Key Scene of the Entire Book, setting up Crucial Themes for the entire SERIES...and they've gone wooden on me! They should have great hate chemistry, but I swear this is the flattest scene I've written since I was an 8-year-old writing Narnia-derivative stories with magical talking horses! These two are supposed to be consummate alpha wolves circling each other and snarling, and they're just SITTING there being wooden!

(I know, I know, I've built the scene up in my mind because it's all so Important. But someone please talk me down and convince me I'm capable of making these wooden puppets real boys again. Because they're such fun to write when they're alive.)

Umm - as an exercise might you try writing a slash scene between them, then the hate scene again? I dunno, we have such different styles I don't know if advice from me will help or not.