And then something snapped.
I threw the first thing I could grab—a glass—watching it shatter against the wall. My screams echoed in the room, incoherent sounds of rage and despair. My hands fumbled over the objects around me, hurling them with reckless abandon. A vase, books, a lamp—they all met the floor, the walls, splintering, breaking, just like me.
I fell to my knees, my nails digging into my scalp as I tugged at my hair, sobs wracking my body. The pain was suffocating, crushing me from the inside out. “Why?!”
But then I knew: This wouldn’t matter. He didn’t care.
I let out a broken laugh, choking on my tears as I forced myself to stop. My hands stilled in my hair. My breathing slowed. This was pointless. He was a psychopath. He would never understand.
I stood shakily, my chest h
