“He stopped the car all of a sudden, banging his fists against the wheel. It had taken him longer than I’d anticipated to explode. I stilled in my seat and closed my eyes, pretending he couldn’t see me as long as I couldn’t see the vein on his temple throbbing angrily, as long as I couldn’t see his flushed cheeks. But I heard his hasty intakes of breath, felt the tension spread in the air, thick enough to suffocate me. I threw the door open then and got out of the car. I couldn’t stand being caged in such a small and confined place with him. 
The sudden burst of cold cleared my head but did nothing to prepare me for his insults. For his cursing. For him rushing after me and slamming the door shut. He grabbed my wrist and shoved me back towards the car and there were tears in his eyes and tears in mine but I would hold it in this time. I’d always hold it in from now on. I was in control. I was fine. 
“You knew,” he shouted, and I wondered what he would do if I was the one to push him away, if I got into the car and just drove, drove until I felt safe again, “you knew all this time.” It wasn’t a question so I didn’t answer. I had something to hold over his head, something so dark, so twisted, that he didn’t know how to cope with it. Something that he didn’t want anyone else to figure out. I was in control, I reminded myself sternly. My silence was what fueled his burning rage and he set himself on fire right there, in the middle of the street. 
“Yes,” I breathed, my hands shaking, my pulse quickening, “I did. And I wouldn’t have told you. I wanted us to work out, but I wouldn’t have told you how much I knew and damned myself. Never in a million years.” I watched him go up in flames and remembered what he’d done to me, how he’d treated me, how he’d made me feel. And I smiled. As he burned and screamed and kicked the side of the car, I watched, a smile on my face.”