The Predator

Judas Romanovski

The door slammed shut and it didn’t do a damn thing to cage the storm raging inside me. My hands trembled—rage or something darker that I couldn’t fucking name—and I loathed it with everything I had. My fingers curled around the edge of the fucking desk I had her slammed and knuckles whitened, and then—snap. The desk splintered under my grip, wood cracking like her voice cracked my sanity.

Fuck. Her.

I swept my arm across the surface, sending everything flying—papers, glass, the laptop I’d replaced three times this year. It shattered, pieces scattering across the floor. She couldn’t see it, of course. Couldn’t see me....