COLT
What the f**k was that? My head is a f*****g war zone. A cyclone of anger and something worse—something I refuse to name. It’s not pain. It’s not loss. I don’t lose.
But this?
This feels a hell of a lot like getting ripped apart. I found her. I f*****g found her.
And she looked me in the eyes and told me she was happy.
I think I replayed that moment a thousand times in my f*****g head. A thousand. And every single time, I want to rip my own goddamn skin off. She looked me in the f*****g eyes and told me she didn’t want to leave.
I don’t even realize my teeth are grinding until the metallic taste of blood slides over my tongue. My jaw is locked so tight it’s a wonder it hasn’t f*****g snapped. My hands are wrecked—knuckles torn, skin shredded from the last poor bastard who go
