I told her…
… and she fucking left me.
Just like I always knew she would.
It was inevitable.
“Fuuuck!”
I shove the chair back, rising so fast it screeches across the floor. Rage surges through me, and I look around, desperate for something, anything, to take the edge off the pain clawing at my chest.
My hand closes around a glass. Without hesitation, I hurl it at the wall. It shatters on impact, the sound sharp, brutal, satisfying, but in the worst way.
It’s not enough.
I storm over to the counter, sweeping everything off in one violent motion. Plates, bottles, whatever’s in my path crash to the floor, clattering and breaking around me. I kick the wreckage aside, pacing like a caged animal, my hands buried in my hair. My breathing stutters through ragged sobs that I’m too pissed to hold back.
I feel helpless.
There’s nothing I can do to fix this.
Nothing will bring her back to me.
“I’m fucking useless!” I roar, staring at her.
And she gives me nothing.
No reaction. No flicker of movement.
She lies there, still and silent—and it guts me.
It infuriates me.
The nurse rushes in, followed by two security guards. I lift my hands in surrender, exhaling hard through my nose, my chest still heaving.
The guards start toward me.
“Don’t you fucking dare try to take me out of this room,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous. “I’m not leaving her.”
They don’t stop. Don’t even flinch.
But then the nurse speaks up, “It’s all right, guys. He can stay.”
For the first time since I stepped into this hellhole, I’m actually grateful for her.
The guards back off, returning to their post by the door, eyes still locked on me like I’m one second away from losing it again.
As the nurse quietly begins cleaning up the mess I made, I pace the floor, guilt already creeping in beneath the rage.
I blow out a breath, walk over, and kneel to help. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” My voice catches. A solid knot lodges in my throat, impossible to swallow past. And for once, I’ve got no words left.
“Overwhelming,” she says softly.
I swipe a hand over my face, trying to erase the evidence of my breakdown.
“Mr. Slade, I understand how terrible this is and how much you must miss her, but I promise you, time heals everything,” she offers with a gentle smile.
I exhale heavily, gather the shattered remnants of the equipment, and place them on the counter. “Thanks,” I glance at her name badge—Shannon. “Please, call me Colt.” Extending my hand, she shakes it warmly before quietly leaving the room.
