As Claudia’s figure vanished from the terrace, York’s body slumped unconsciously against the railing, sliding to the floor.
His hollow eyes stared blankly into the endless night sky. He squeezed them shut, the pain so intense that tears streamed down from the corners.
The girl who had once loved him more than anything was never coming back.
A dull ache deep in his heart spread through his entire body. The pain was so agonizing that he curled into a ball, pounding his chest with his fist.
The cold island wind slowly froze the bloodstains on the floor and roused York from the stupor his pain had induced.
He numbly surveyed his surroundings, realizing he was still lying in the same spot.
With bloodshot eyes, York stared toward the bedroom, his lips trembling violently.
He struggled to his feet, leaning on the railing for a moment to steady himself before going inside.
He paused at the bedroom door.
It was ajar, and a light was still on.
Claudia was sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, hugging herself as she stared into space, looking utterly helpless.
His heart ached for her. He lifted his foot to enter, but the moment his hand touched the doorknob, a thought stopped him.
He paused, looking down at the bloodstains on his white shirt. His hand slowly released the knob.
Claudia was a neat freak.
She would be disgusted by the mess he was in.
York turned and leaned his back against the wall outside the bedroom door, his hands trembling at his sides from clenching them too hard.
Him and Claudia.
They could never go back.
The heartache was unbearable. York bit down hard on the back of his hand to keep from making a sound.
Hearing footsteps at the top of the stairs, he turned to face the wall, unwilling to let anyone see him in such a wretched state.
Mark lowered his voice. "Mr. Ferguson, it’s time for your medication."
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