I stared at the wreckage in front of me, broken glass from the vases I’d smashed, the sideboard table splintered and broken at my feet. My chest heaved as I panted, perspiration dotting my forehead, my vision finally clearing.
She’d gone. I’d screamed at her and told her to fucking leave. She was gone.
Everything in the room but the yellowed papers was ruined. The vases we’d gotten when we traveled to China, the table handmade and delivered here from Germany, the prints from Italy and the spun glass from Mexico. It was demolished, broken, and useless. I closed my eyes against the emotions that threatened to ruin me and walked to where the curtains fluttered by the open window. She’d opened the window? I took a deep breath, grasped the ledge, and peered into the darkness. There was nothing as far as the eye could see. I ran my fingers through my hair and groaned.
You must control your temper.
This, I knew. As a child I never raged like this, but as an adult, after the death of Samantha, my temper flared when provoked, and I left nothing undisturbed in my path.
I never resorted to violence with other people. I maintained the control I needed. I had to. I could never again hurt an innocent woman.
I’d never lashed out at Samantha, never hurt her. But as a young man ruled by passionate proclivities, I loved the carnal delight her submission brought me, and I used her to my advantage. I took what was mine, and then I took some more, never giving back what she needed. I fucked her and used her and then went off to work. She waited for me. She’d been patient, and though the doctors said there were medical complications that caused her depression and anxiety, I’d convinced myself it was my own fault.
I could not reach out and bring her back to me. I never could hold her close and prevent her tragic death, her screams echoing in my ears even now as the wind whipped the curtains at my face. And now the only woman I’d had within arm’s reach for years — the one I’d held as if she were my prisoner — had gone. Once more I could not save her. Once more I could not draw her back to me and protect her, but did the very opposite, drove her from me. Where was she?
I scanned below my window, the light of the moon casting a shimmering glow upon the waves that crashed in the distance. I looked for a small figure running, but could see nothing at first.
When I did, the anger within me rose again, my stomach clenching with impotent rage.
She walked along the path that led to the cliff. And she was not alone. At her back were three men, and they were pursuing her.
I stepped over the broken glass and shattered wood until I cleared my path, and when my feet hit the carpet in the hallway, I ran.
