Hoshor Plains Do I make you cringe?

Midar's blank expression as he turns to him only fuels the fire spreading rapidly over his skin and filling his hollow chest. His jaw tightens, teeth grinding together painfully as he waits for his husband's response. Yet his efforts to control himself seem ultimately futile. His limbs go stiff as he watches Midar's expression shift into a mirror of his own anger, muscles tightening as adrenaline begins to take over. He thinks of what he'd told Caiaphas; of the misery and helplessness and hopelessness he's endured these last few months; of his husband's callous ways, his selfish stubbornness; of all that he has loved and lost and lost again, and all that he has fought and changed and abandoned to reach this point —
And he snaps.
A problem? He snarls, disbelief in his tone. His voice only gets louder as he continues, biting and relentless. You think an injured child is a problem? The only problem in this situation is you, Midar! I'm sick of it, I'm so fucking sick of you! You ruined my life, you forced me into this, and I let you because I thought you loved me — but all you ever do is disrespect me and do fucked up shit like this. He pauses only long enough to take a few breaths, ragged and fast, voice rising further with his next words until he's screaming. You're a heartless asshole, Midar. Fuck you — FUCK YOU!
He takes a step back, numb except a bone-deep chill, heart pounding. His next words are more quiet, but no less adamant: It's over. He turns, knowing he has nothing else to say, and he does what he was born to do, what he's been doing all his life; he runs.