I don't remember the cab ride home.
By the time I unlocked the door to the penthouse, the tangled mess in my head had completely spiraled out of control into a devastating chaos. The vines wrapped around my heart felt like they were ripping it to shreds.
I walked into my private study and slammed the door shut. The calm facade I had been forcing finally shattered completely.
I grabbed a stack of hardcover books off my desk and hurled them onto the hardwood floor. They hit with a deafening crash. But it wasn't enough.
I tore into the bookshelves, ripping pages out of novels and throwing them into the air like a twisted, grotesque snowstorm.
I grabbed skincare products, crystal ornaments Silas had brought back from business trips to Tokyo and London, and the intricate Lego sets we had built together on rainy Sundays.
I smashed them all. Glass shattered, plastic cracked, and the room was instantly reduced to ruins.
The urge to destroy morphed into a blinding rage.
I stood there, panting, drenched in sweat, surrounded by the wreckage of my own life.
My eyes fell on a pair of metal scissors resting on the edge of the desk.
I picked them up, rolled up my sleeve, and pressed the cold, sharp steel against my forearm.
Before I could draw the blade, a sharp bark shattered the silence.
Nova threw himself at my calves, whining as if he were the one in agony. He pawed at my legs, his little face twisted in distress.
The scissors slipped from my trembling fingers, clattering onto the floor. Nova immediately scrambled into my lap, frantically licking my hands, my arms, anywhere he could reach.
I sank to my knees amidst the broken glass and shredded paper. I pulled his warm, furry body tightly against my chest and, finally, mercifully, broke down.
The destructive high faded, leaving only a bottomless abyss of despair.
I buried my face in the dog's fur and sobbed until my throat bled.
