It occurred to Marie that in that moment, she had passed her anxiety to Frank; that years and years, a lifetime of stifled pain had come uncorked and now ricocheted around the room. Like a bottle of champagne, the uncorking came with considerable energy, almost violence, as the truth exploded out of her. Now, the truth was settling, bubbling peacefully, almost manageable. If she drank more, she'd feel a bit of burning, but it would subside and bubble there. The desire to drink, to imbibe and release, was overwhelming. She watched Frank, who seemed to be succumbing to her truth.

(Exactly one hundred words from my novel-in-progress.)