Page 39 of Submit
At the same time as I step in, the lights flicker once, then come on, and my heart sinks into my feet as I look around the front den and all the destruction.
My antique furniture is overturned, and the linen throw pillows are scattered on the floor. The coffee table is shattered into small splinters of wood, like it’s been attacked with an axe, and the wallpaper is ripped in large chunks, showing massive holes in the plaster walls.
Red paint is thrown on the parts of the walls that are intact, and something is scrawled in it.
“She’s mine.” Is repeated over and over again in squiggly lines like it was a finger-painting project by a kid.
“Motherfucker.” I curse loudly, grabbing my hair in my hand and pulling on it, my stomach turning with acidic bile at the utter mess of my home.
The floor is covered in dirt from the overturned potted plants and as I walk through the hallway towards the kitchen the ruin just gets worse.
My knob wood kitchen floor has been destroyed, and the cabinets are torn apart, with their doors hanging off or laying on the floor. My marble countertop has been shattered into large chunks, and the sink is still running and overflowing.
I can’t decide where to look next. Do I go out to the garage and see what’s been done to my cars? Or do I go further into the house and continue the tour of destruction?
“It just keeps getting worse.” I shout as I go around the corner and stomp up the steps, my shoes slamming hard on the carpet that’s covered in the same red paint that’s on my den walls.
My bedroom is an absolute disaster, with my bed shredded, the linens torn into tiny scraps and the doors and windows cracked and busted out. Cold air blows in through the window where I stood just a couple weeks ago waiting for Millie to reappear while I fucked Ashley against the glass.
My library is thankfully the least affected. The books are all knocked from the shelves, but nothing is ruined. And in my anger I kick a stack of them out of the way on my way out and back downstairs.
“My cars?” I ask Detective Ross, who stands at the door to the garage, his back to me and his head bowed. “Are they there? Are they totaled?”
“I’m sorry.” It’s all he says before he steps into the garage and out of my view.
I want to follow him in there, to see what has happened to them, but at the same time, I can’t. The Porsche 911 is the first car I ever bought with my earned wealth, and she holds a very special place in my heart. To see her broken and tainted by the hands of Tyler will kill me, if it doesn’t make me homicidal.
Who am I kidding though, the more I look around, the more I see, and the more I total up the damage in my head, the more pissed I’m becoming. I can feel the anger rising in me more, my face heating, my hands trembling at my sides as I stand in the middle of my kitchen, turning in circles, not even knowing where to begin with anything.
“Tyler.” I seethe. “Tyler Richmond.”
Just the sound of his name on my lips has me seeing red, and not just the red paint he’s graffitied my house’s interior with.
I know it was him. The message was loud and clear. “She’s mine”.
“Who?” Ross asks, popping his head back in the room.
“Fucking Tyler Richmond.” I growl, looking at his confused face.
“So you know who did this? Good we can go pick him up.” He says, coming in the kitchen, wiping his feet on the mat just inside the door, even though it’s a moot point with everything in my home already ruined.
“I took his girl. This is payback.”
“For a piece of ass? All this?”
“Yeah, and I have a feeling she’s involved.”
“Not good.”
“Yeah I know.” I sigh, puffing out my cheeks with a big, dramatic breath. “I can’t be sure though.”
“She the one out in the car?”
“Yeah.”
“Keep a good eye on her then.”
“Will do man. What’d you need from me, I just wanna get some sleep and deal with this all in the morning.”
