He throws a lamp hard enough to not only shatter the ceramic but put a big fucking hole in the wall too. That’s the start of his rampage. It carries him through to the kitchen where he punches through a cabinet door, splintering the wood and ripping skin from his knuckles. And if that wasn’t enough for me to witness… he also overturns all the furniture from the coffee table to my mattress.
Daniel paces between bouts of his tantrum. There’s some head slapping and shaking, and these angry gasping breaths that look like he’s trying not to dry-land drown.
He doesn’t cry, although that would be easier to watch than him tearing apart something I worked hard to pay for.
I walk away when he turns to my dresser and starts snatching drawers out. I’ve seen all I need to see.
He’s spiraling.
Losing control.
I thought this moment would make things better, easier… But somehow this makes it worse.
More personal than it was a few days ago.
I understand his frustration, though. That’s the part I don’t enjoy admitting.
I vanished from his world without his permission. And when I reappeared, in someone else’s arms, unreachable and thriving, he didn’t handle it well.
Inthreesomeone else’s arms.
My point is… I’m taking up space he can’t touch anymore. He can’t control me, not that he ever did, nor can he rewrite any of our run-ins to make himself out to be the victim.
And it’s driving him insane.
But too much insanity is unpredictable.
I glance at the tablet propped in front of me on the kitchen counter. Kieran’s setup is flawless, auto-flagging movement in layered feeds from my apartment and the street-facing cameras outside the building.
It pings again, and I hit the button on the side to quiet it.
False alarm.
It’s just the man from the fourth floor walking his dog.
Daniel hasn’t left the building yet.
Still, my fingers twitch as if they’re itching for something more solid to latch onto… A throat, perhaps?
I’m ready for resolution.
I want him to show up again.
Roo and I have talked our plans to death, and each one feels a little off. But at this point, I’m just done waiting. Done hiding behind glass and cameras and the careful concern in three different pairs of eyes.
I want him dead.
Today.
And if the guys don’t find him first, if their patience stretches one hour too long, I’m going hunting.
I close the tablet and stand slowly, as if any sudden movement might fracture the control I’m holding onto by my fingernails.
My gun is still in the kitchen drawer, boots by the garage door.
My pulse is steady, and… Roo is calling.
I swear she has a sixth sense for when I’m about to do something reckless on my own. It’s her way of inviting herself along so I don’t get into more trouble than necessary.
