A little more disorder

She flinched, a quick spasm of disgust, although inwardly overcome by the obscenity of her circumstances, the anxiety never surfaced. Instead, the restiveness stewed in the underground, spilling over in little places, where flickers of memory exposed themselves in clenching hands. The hands would clench so tightly, hoarding blood in the palms, then, then, then, exhaling in release, the hand would fully extend itself, sending the fingertips, profuse with blood, dithering with ecstasy. Everything seemed tremendously tenuous inside of her, it was an impossible balancing act, this holding of breath, all day long she would look for a place to let it go, if only for a minute, some room to unleash a part of the animal beating against the cage of her chest, chanting cruel, cynical anthems to taunt her yearning for self-control. Many times she thought of the little prisoner banging his cold steel drum in her brain, and how what methods she might pursue to bring about his swift and total demise. The thought frightened her that it would not be possible to destroy him without destroying a part of herself. What part would that wicked boy take with him, she wondered.