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“Gray Eastwood’s dorm,” I demand. “Where is it?”
He looks at me like I’m a crazy person, but I repeat the question, my entire body shaking with rage. He holds his hands up, grimacing. “Third floor. It’s the one at the end of the hall.”
I take the stairs so fast my feet almost trip on the steps, and I pound on Gray’s door with one hand when I get to it. My fist aches from the force of my blows, the heel of my hand throbbing and red.
I don’t care. He’ll open this goddamn door or I’ll beat it down.
“What the hell?”
The door next to Gray’s opens, and Declan steps out. His eyes widen when he sees me.
On my opposite side, Elias yanks his door wide too, a split second before the one in front of me opens.
I register a look of surprise on Elias’s face, but then my focus lands on Gray, and everything disappears in a haze of red again.
“Whoa—Sparrow, what the fuck?”
Gray’s large hands grab my shoulders as I barrel toward him, intent on beating the shit out of him. He manages to hold me back out of arm’s reach, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Did he not think I would fight back? He ruined years of my life in what was probably a few minutes of calculated destruction.
And for what? Because I kissed his friends? Because he doesn’t like me?
That doesn’t give him the right
to touch what’s mine.
“Fuck you!” I scream. I twist out of his grip, only to have one of the others grab me from behind. Red. All I see is red. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you keep coming after me?”
“Sounds like a question I should be asking you.” Gray narrows his eyes. “You barge into my room like a bat outta hell snapping and yelling. I haven’t done anything to you—”
“Bullshit! There’s only one person besides me who has a key to my fucking room, and that’s you. All my paintings, all my art… it’s all destroyed! And you’re going to tell me you had nothing to do with it? You’ve taken every chance you could get to fuck with me, to hurt me, to do whatever the hell you want! What… what did I ever do… what—”
I can’t breathe.
The red in my vision flickers, and it’s not just red.
It’s grey, and confusing, and fuzzy.
My legs are jelly.
Art is the thing that grounds me. Really, truly keeps me whole. It’s the one constant out of every stupid little bullshit thing that’s ever happened in my life, and it all was destroyed in a few moments.
Carelessly. Callously.
A lot of shit has happened to me in the part of my life I can actually remember. It swirls in my head, a whirlwind of abuse and hurt. Things I could paint over. Sketch away. Lock into a piece of art and leave it there where it couldn’t touch me anymore.
It’s all gone. I can’t fix any of those.
I think about the sketch of Jared. Ripped up. Scattered. Just like him.
Something like a sob breaks out of my chest, and I shove away whoever is holding me. I don’t pay attention to who it is, lunging forward to grab Gray by the front of his shirt.
“Do you have any idea how important those were to me?” I blink as I speak, realizing there’s a thick layer of tears in my eyes. “Do you know how many years all that art on my walls represented? You can hate me all you fucking want, but why…”
My voice trails off. I can’t put my feelings into words. I can’t catch my breath.
I’m fucking losing it, and I can’t stop. This downward spiral is too much for me to handle.
