Best Kind of Broken

6 Levi

Fuck.

I clench my fists until my arms are shaking. I want to hit something, and I want to scream. God, do I want to scream.

Fuck.

I shove my hands in my hair. I grit my teeth. I stare at nothing.

I slam my fist into the wall and throw my weight behind it, welcoming the sharp sting that smacks against my knuckles and travels up my arm. I punch the wall again and this time the plaster cracks, giving me an odd sense of satisfaction. Another punch and the drywall gives way, leaving a hole, as crimson streaks of blood run between my fingers. I beat at the wall until the pain catches up with me and my fist begins to ache and throb.

Standing back, I rub my uninjured hand across my mouth and survey the destruction. A giant black hole stares back at me as a few leftover pieces of bloodstained drywall crumble to the floor.

Ellen is going to be pissed I broke the wall. But hell.

I’m the fucking handyman.