Perfect Chaos(2)

It was the hint of softness in his voice when he said my name which had me opening my eyes.

My gaze hit his legs first, the long, lean length covered in black cargo pants. There was a rip in the material just above his knee. Dirt. Smudges of dirt on his pants as if he’d come straight from whatever hell they’d been in.

They. In a second, the word they wouldn’t exist anymore.

My gaze moved upward, hesitant, as if my brain was fighting every step. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles strong notches which had felt the harshness of pounding into another man. It was odd because his hands were clean, and yet I saw the dirt on his tatted arms and the … blood? Was it his blood or—

“Georgie.”

The loud, abrupt sound of my name made me lurch and my gaze flew to his.

His jaw was tense. Eyes hard and cold—unemotional. He looked directly at me, not an ounce of compassion in his unyielding stare. But I saw other things. There beneath his stoic solidity … the torment, the pain, the darkness which was soon going to become my own.

I started shaking violently, and my throat tightened against the sobs that racked my body. “No.” It was the only word I could get out.

Please, no.

He stood and watched me tremble and cry on my knees in the middle of my room for several minutes before he said, “I couldn’t save him.”

His words cut into me with the finality of the truth, and my breath hitched as more tears pooled and slipped from the confines of my eyelids. I tightened my arms around my body as if that would help the pain ease.

It didn’t.

Nothing would.

Connor.

He was gone.

I’d never hear his teasing. Feel the touch of his hand ruffling my hair. Hear his voice calling me ‘Georgie Girl’.

He promised to come back.

Pain.

Hurt.

Devastation.

‘Chaos’.

My head screamed with anarchy as Connor’s image played across my mind. It was distorted and broken with bits of light being sucked apart by the darkness.

Destruction. I had to destroy. My perfect world was no longer. Nothing would ever be the same again. I’d never be the same again.

I scrambled to my feet, grabbed my duvet and tore it off the bed, the flowered throw pillow and bunny tossed to the floor. A strange sound emerged from my throat as I dove for my dresser and swept my arm across the shiny, neat surface—books, my jewelry box, and a vase crashed to the hardwood floor. I could hear glass shattering, and silver stud earrings, pearls, and rings scattered in every direction.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

Destruction.

I grabbed my light off my nightstand and threw it across the room. The bulb made a loud pop as it hit the wall. I needed to destroy. Everything I’d made into a neat and tidy place was no longer. It was all gone. Nothing would be perfect again. My world had just burst open, and I was bleeding. It hurt. God, it hurt.

I tripped over my duvet as I went for the closet and fell to my knees. It didn’t stop me … the physical pain was nothing, almost welcoming to the emotional pain taking me apart piece by piece. I got up, then staggered to the closet and threw open the doors.

I wrenched my clothes off the hangers—the pretty, soft-yellow dresses, white ones, black ones. Then the plain, button-down blouses and the black pants. The empty hangers swung back and forth on the metal bar as every single piece of clothing was thrown to the floor. When the closet was empty, I picked up whatever was in reach and began tearing. Buttons popped. Silk and nylon tore, sleeves ripped from the cores—like me. This was me being shredded apart.

Carelessly, I yanked and pulled at whatever my hands could get a hold of.

Rip.

Tear.

Ruin everything. Destroy.

I was breathing hard when I finished. Nothing was left alive. Just like me. I had nothing left except to run.

Run.

Run.

Run.

I ran for the door. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out of here. Away from this ruined perfect world. He was gone. Connor was gone.

My mind was whirling and frantic.

Escape.

I didn’t even see him; my vision blurred from tears and anger and pain. He blocked the doorway, his broad frame preventing my path of escape.

I ran anyway, trying to dive past him.

He snagged me around the waist with one arm and my feet left the floor. I screamed and squirmed in his hold like a rag doll. He set me down directly in front of him, his hands latched onto my upper arms in a bruising grip.

“Georgie, look at me.”

I kicked and yelled, trying to leave, but nothing would set me free. I knew I’d never be free again. My brother. My best friend. He was dead.

“Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.”

Run. Get away.

“Look. At. Me.”

This time his voice cut through my hysterical need to escape, and I stopped struggling, staring up at his unflinching eyes. How could he just stand there? He’d just destroyed my life, my family’s life. And he was standing there looking at me without a trace of sympathy.