My knees buckled. I sank onto the couch, the cushions swallowing me.
“I clogged the bathroom too,” she continued, pleased. “Sink. Toilet. Everything. It’s flooding now, Beth. Ankle-deep. You should see it.”
A crash exploded through the line.
Glass.
Shattering.
My skin prickled with cold sweat.
“Sage—stop. Please?—”
“Listen,” she whispered.
The roar grew louder. A monstrous, consuming sound—water devouring the house, punctuated by splashes and sharp, deliberate destruction.
“It’s soaking into his precious hardwood,” she went on. “Ruining the foundation he bragged about. Isn’t it beautiful? Like tears. For what he’s losing.”
Another crash.
Porcelain this time.
“I’m going upstairs now.”
Her voice dropped. Softened. Intimate.
My throat closed.
“What are you doing in his bedroom?”
Fabric rustled. Slow. Deliberate. Like she wanted me to hear every inch.
“I stripped naked,” she breathed. “Waxed this morning. Just for him. Smooth the way he likes. Rolled around in his bed—remember how he’d watch?” She laughed quietly. “I buried my face in his pillows. I’m soaked in his smell.”
My hand trembled so badly I nearly dropped the phone.
A violent rip tore through the line.
“I slit the mattress open,” she said happily. “With his own knife. Feathers everywhere. Like our fights. Messy. Wild.”
I pressed my palm to my mouth, bile burning my throat.
“I put on his red flannel,” she went on. “The one he rips off me. It hangs just right.” A pause. Then, delighted—“The rest of his shirts? Outside. Firepit. Lighter fluid.”
Crackling flames joined the roar of water.
“I can feel the heat on my skin, Beth.”
“Sage,” I sobbed, “this isn’t love. This is—this is sick.”
She was completely unhinged.
Unglued.
Spiraling down a path of self destruction even I never saw coming.
She laughed. High. Splintering.
