To say that I am not feverishly mad shall be an understatement. I want to lay waste to all that I see in front of my eyes. I want to rip everything by the seems apart. God forbid the one that shall cross my path, I shall tear their skin off, each layer by layer until they are but only bone.
Now, I find myself furious and pissed off. Yet Isabella has no idea, and I am not giving her one either. So much to her irritation, I ignore her very questions and rise to my feet, and head for the door.
I hear her snap after me, "Where are you going?"
"I have something I need to sort out."
With that, I leave the room, shutting the door with such great force that the paintings along the wall vibrate.
As I head towards the lounge, the tears that have been threatening to consume my eyes and edge thei
