What the #?*!

He practically cut her sentence off before she finished it, turning to her with a glare. ”What the fuck do you think I mean, Ashe?” He snapped at her. The man knew that he was projecting, but he didn’t care, couldn’t care, not when the man she had been married to was now parading around town with a mask. ”He’s wearing a full face, expressionless mask. Is that better fucking explanation for you?”       There was pain spreading through him, and Kalt couldn’t completely identify the source of it. No...no, he knew the source. He knew the violence that the sight of a mask - and gloves, that Alistair seemed to have started wearing, which he didn’t mention to Ashetta yet - drudged up in him, knew the anger and bloodlust that came with it. He knew it all too well, experienced it nearly every single day for seventeen years straight.       He hated himself... Well, he wanted to hate himself for the way he didn’t care about the tremor in her voice, about the slight flinch at the sound of the bottle hitting the counter, about the fact that this would have hit her just as hard as it hit him - if not likely even harder - if she had seen it firsthand. He wanted to hate himself for the way he really didn’t care, but he couldn’t. His mind was experiencing a complete lockdown, survival systems the only parts of his brain that were staying extremely active, possibly running on overdrive.       Breathe, breathe. He couldn’t, he fucking couldn’t.       Kalt took another drink, squeezing his eyes shut and putting the bottle down again, his forehead pressed against the cabinet over the counter. His hands were still shaking, and he couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think straight. His mind was fucking flying at the speed of light, and he needed something, literally anything to just stop it for a second. The man shoved his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing the extreme scarring that she would recognize from the Guild, but some of the scars were clearly fresher and painfully straight.       He didn’t look at her. Can’t breathe. His hand grabbed the dagger on his belt, and he slashed it quickly over the center of his palm. Kalt winced, turning away from Ashetta immediately. He knew she wouldn’t exactly be on board with the self-inflicted injuries, but he didn’t care. He dropped the dagger on the counter lazily and squeezed his left hand closed, blood seeping from between his fingers and dripping to the counter.       Breathe. He could breathe. At least the moment, but that was all that was important. ”A faceless mask.” His voice was lower then, more controlled, but still shaky if he relied on it for too long. ”And a new glove to go with it.” Finally, he turned to face Ashe with more pain in his eyes than ice. ”If that’s his twisted way of getting back at you...” He didn’t know what the end of that sentence was going to be, didn’t know anything for certain right then. He focused on the ache in his hand, centering him, giving him the ability to see through the haze in his vision. Kalt I  am flesh and I am bone, i rise up, ting ting, like glitter and gold i've got fire in my soul