Fragile Minds, Fierce Hearts

KATE

I had just finished fighting with Chloe. My body felt rigid, consumed by rage, an anger so deep it felt like it could tear through my skin. How dare she push me to talk about Kira? How dare she demand to know what happened? It wasn't her place—not her place at all. Each word that came out of my mouth was like poison, draining the last bits of patience I had left. I felt the need to kill the love she had for me, to destroy it so she would never ask again. So, I said the most painful things I could muster, words that cut deeper than any wound. I could feel her love for me fading with each word, slipping away like water through my fingers.

And somehow, I found comfort in that pain—knowing I could hurt her, knowing I could control her emotions. It was twisted, but it was real. In hurting her, I could bury my own suffering. Her last words before storming out, "Fuck you, Kate," hung in the air like a curse. And yet, I didn't feel regret—not immediately. Instead, I felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted off my chest. But it wasn't enough. The rage was still boiling inside me, and I needed to break something, anything. I'd already shattered someone's heart—now I needed to see something physical break, to watch it crumble in front of me.

I grabbed the nearest object, a baseball bat that had been lying in the corner for months. My grip on the handle tightened, my knuckles white as if I were choking the life out of it. I needed release, needed to destroy. I turned to the mirror, my reflection glaring back at me, a stranger filled with hate. Without thinking, I swung the bat, hard. The glass shattered instantly, fragments flying through the air, cascading around me like tiny, sharp stars. The sound of it breaking felt like music, but it wasn't enough. I ripped the broken mirror off the wall with my bare hands, ignoring the glass that sliced into my skin.

The rage continued to build as I turned to the table and flipped it over in one swift motion, sending papers and books scattering across the floor. I didn't care. Stepping on the shards of glass, I felt them cut deep into my feet, but the pain didn't stop me—it fueled me. I kept going, destroying everything in sight. Every piece of furniture, every valuable object that once had meaning was now reduced to splinters and debris. My home became a war zone, the chaos mirroring the storm inside me.

But then, after the destruction had settled, the guilt began to creep in. It wasn't the material things I had lost—those could be replaced. No, the real loss was something deeper. The love and trust I had destroyed in Chloe, the way I had sabotaged not just her, but myself. When you destroy someone's heart, you don't just break them—you fracture your own soul, too.

Hours passed. The house was silent, save for my own ragged breathing, my body still trembling from the adrenaline. That's when my phone rang. A number I didn't recognize lit up the screen, but the area code was local. Something inside me told me to answer.

"Hello, this is Brooklyn Hospital. Urgency wing calling," the voice on the other end said, and instantly, my heart sank.

Memories of the hospital flooded back. The same hospital where I had taken Kira when she was dying. My voice shook as I tried to hold it together. "Hello, who am I speaking to?"

"Layla Ashwood," she replied, and the name sent a jolt through me. Layla—Kira's nurse.

I swallowed hard. "I haven't heard from you in years, Layla. What's going on?"

Her voice softened, carrying a weight that made my stomach drop. "I'm so sorry, Kate. Are you aware of the incident?"

My heart raced. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Kate, she had you as her emergency contact. Chloe. She's here, at the hospital. There was an accident. It looks like... it was intentional."

The world stopped. My heart shattered into a million pieces. Chloe. Intentional. Those words crashed through me like a tidal wave. Without thinking, I hung up the phone and rushed to my car. Guilt gnawed at my insides, twisting my stomach into knots. This was my fault. All of this was my fault.

My GPS said it would take 20 minutes to get to the hospital, but I sped through the streets, running red lights, ignoring everything around me. I made it in ten. Every second felt like an eternity as I burst into the hospital, running through the sterile halls like a madwoman until I found Layla. She gave me the consent I needed to see Chloe.

When I entered the room, time seemed to stop. Chloe lay there, so still, so fragile, hooked up to machines that beeped steadily, keeping her tethered to life. She looked so tired, so broken, barely breathing. But she was alive. My heart ached at the sight of her, but at the same time, a strange peace settled over me. She was still here.

"Hey, baby," I managed to whisper, my voice cracking with emotion. I was terrified she wouldn't respond, but she did. Her eyes fluttered open, just enough to let me know she was still fighting.

Without thinking, I leaned down and kissed her, pouring every ounce of passion, regret, and love I had left in me into that kiss. It was desperate, filled with a thousand unspoken apologies. Please forgive me, I thought, even though I wasn't sure I deserved it.

But for now, all I could do was hold her and hope.