Everything was too quiet. Too empty.
The air hit wrong. There were no breath. No laughter. Not even her sadness. There were no trace of her except for the faint imprint on the sheets and the chaos that unraveled soon after I've left.
The silence was screaming at me, louder than war drums, urging me to do something. To rage. To kill something. Because all of this just felt wrong.
For a long moment I just stood there like a fool, my hands curling into fists at my sides, every muscle screaming at me to tear the room apart, to rip down these walls until I found her. But I didn't. I forced myself to stay still.
Rage like this was useless. I know that now. And I couldn't afford useless. Besides, all these furnitures, these walls even, she had touched them all. Her memories were embedded right in this room, more than anywhere else. I didn't want to soil it.
"She's gone," I bit out, the words scraping out of me like broken glass, right as my father approached from behind.
