Elinore POV:
My hand closed around the heavy glass ashtray, its weight a sudden, grounding force in the whirlwind of my rage. My eyes, still blurred with tears and fury, locked onto Carter. He was still clutching Brittney, his face contorted in a mix of anger and shock. My gaze flickered to Brittney, her head buried in his shoulder, her sobs theatrical.
"You killed him," I repeated, my voice a low growl, barely recognizable as my own. The ashtray felt cold, hard, lethal in my grip.
Carter finally looked at my hand, at the weapon I held. His eyes widened, a flicker of genuine fear crossing his face. "Elinore, what are you doing? Put that down! You're insane!"
But his words were just noise, a buzzing in the background. All I could see was Apollo. His lifeless eyes. The blood. And the faces of the two people who had done this.
I lunged.
It happened in a blur. Carter instinctively pushed Brittney behind him, but she was clinging to him, slowing him down. The ashtray swung, a clumsy, uncontrolled arc fueled by pure, desperate grief.
Thwack.
The sound was sickening. A dull, heavy thud that reverberated through the room. Brittney screamed again, a genuine shriek of pain this time, as the ashtray connected with the side of her head. She slumped against Carter, blood blossoming quickly on her blonde hair, staining his pristine white shirt.
"Oh my god, Brittney!" Carter cried, his voice trembling with a horror that was finally real. He was no longer focused on me, but on her, the gash on her temple, the sudden gush of red.
Brittney gasped, her eyes fluttering open, unfocused. She stared at Carter, her hand reaching up weakly to touch his face, smearing blood across his cheek. "Carter," she whispered, her voice thin and reedy. "Are you... are you still going to protect me? Even after this? You won't... you won't choose her, will you?"
I watched them, my chest heaving, the ashtray still clenched in my hand. He was kneeling, cradling her head, his face pale with shock. And she, even with blood streaming down her face, was still performing, still manipulating. Still asking for reassurance that she was his priority.
A hollow, mirthless laugh bubbled up from my throat. It started as a choked sound, then escalated into loud, deranged cackles that filled the room. Tears streamed down my face, hot and stinging, but they were tears of raw, agonizing heartbreak and bitter irony, not sadness for him.
"You two," I choked out, a fresh wave of laughter tearing through me. "You're perfect. Absolutely perfect for each other. A match made in hell." I wiped my bloody hand across my face, smearing it. "You want to be together? Fine! Be together! Forever! I hope you rot in hell, both of you!"
I dropped the ashtray, the clatter loud in the sudden silence. It rolled across the polished floor, stopping at Carter's feet. I didn't look at him. I couldn't. There was nothing left to see. Nothing left to feel.
My legs, still shaking, carried me towards the kitchen, towards the silent promise of Apollo. With each step, the metallic scent grew stronger, sickeningly sweet. I saw him then, really saw him. My poor, sweet boy. His small body was crumpled, unnatural, in a pool of dark, congealed blood. His favorite squeaky toy lay beside him, untouched, unplayed with.
A fresh wave of nausea washed over me, but I fought it down. I knelt beside him, ignoring the sticky warmth on the floor. My hands, still trembling, reached out to touch his soft fur, cold now, lifeless.
"Apollo," I whispered, my voice breaking. "My sweet, brave boy. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
I gathered him into my arms, his body surprisingly heavy, eerily still. His fur, once so vibrant and warm, was matted and stiff with blood. He felt like a broken puppet, no longer animated by the joyful spirit I knew.
I rose slowly, clutching Apollo's body to my chest. My eyes were fixed forward, not on Carter or Brittney, who were still huddled together on the living room floor, Brittney whimpering. They were ghosts, irrelevant.
I walked past them, my bare feet leaving bloody prints on the floor. I didn't spare them a glance. There was nothing to say. No words could bridge the chasm they had dug. No explanation could erase the horror of this night.
As I reached the front door, I paused, my hand on the cold metal knob. I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Carter. He was looking at me, his eyes wide, a strange mix of fear and dawning comprehension on his face. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, to explain, to plead.
But I cut him off, my voice a flat, dead whisper. "This is it, Carter. This is where it ends. You and I. We're done."
I pushed the door open, the fresh night air a cold shock against my face. As I stepped out, I heard Brittney's voice, weak but still manipulative, pulling Carter back. "Carter… my head hurts so much. I think she broke it…"
I didn't hear Carter's reply. I didn't care. The door clicked shut behind me, severing the last thread of a life that was now utterly, irrevocably over. I walked into the night, Apollo heavy in my arms, leaving behind the wreckage of my past, ready to face the terrifying, empty future. Whatever it held, it would be better than this. It had to be.
