The regret gnawing at my insides was infinitely more toxic than the cheap alcohol burning down my throat.
I should have listened to the cynical warnings the internet forums kept spitting out.
All those viral posts screaming to never help a drowning woman because she'll just drag you down to the bottom with her.
Back then I secretly mocked them as basement-dwelling losers who just hated the world.
I was a teacher.
I firmly believed in moral high grounds and thought humanity still had some shred of decency left.
But it wasn't just blind hatred.
It was a bloody survival guide written by countless innocent victims a flawless database of absolute human malice.
My arrogant naïve past self scoffed at those blood-stained lessons and now I was paying the ultimate price by sacrificing my entire fucking future.
Naturally my pure unadulterated hatred zeroed in on the ex-fiancée who abandoned ship first.
Those repulsive lips that cried tears of joy swearing eternal love on that sunny beach.
The second the cancel culture mob arrived and the social stigma hit she slapped my reaching hand away like I had a fucking plague.
She callously turned her back saying she couldn't handle the bad PR and needed to look out for herself.
It was pure sickening hypocrisy wearing the cheap mask of true love.
But there were worse demons I wanted to brutally tear apart with my bare hands.
That subhuman bitch who framed her literal savior as a sexual predator.
The hypocritical school board that threw me under the bus in a microsecond just to protect their precious reputation.
Those arrogant white-knight prosecutors and judges who accepted a few crocodile tears as invincible evidence mechanically executing a man's life without a shred of guilt.
And finally that incompetent bloodsucking leech of a lawyer who fed me false hope drained my life savings and completely failed to get my job or reputation back.
Veins popped on my knuckles as I violently crushed the empty beer can. A pitch-black murderous intent boiled in my gut making me want to grab a kitchen knife and slice their throats wide open.
KABOOM. CRASH.
Violent chills instantly shot down my spine.
The deafening roar of something massive and heavy crashing deep inside the apartment brutally tore through the morning silence.
A heartbeat later the explosive sound of thick tempered glass shattering like shrapnel slammed into my eardrums.
That wasn't just a normal room.
It was my sanctuary completely lined with massive display cases housing incredibly expensive limited-edition figurines and meticulously painted tabletop miniatures of War-Sword 4000.
Originally that room was supposed to be a warm cozy nursery for our future child. When I remodeled the apartment with my ex I secretly wanted a man-cave to display the badass mechs and heroes I idolized since childhood.
But the ex-fiancée vetoed it instantly.
"You're over thirty and still collecting plastic toys? It's pathetic. It's a waste of money and terrible for a kid's education. Buy me another designer bag instead."
Her cold words stung but I bit my tongue and abandoned my lifelong dream for the woman I loved. I decorated the empty room with cute cartoon wallpaper locked the door and left it for our imaginary baby.
But everything changed after that bullshit lawsuit hit and she bailed on me.
Crushed by the pressure of the trial and the disgusting gazes of society I was drowning in suicidal depression.
To stay sane I violently ripped the cartoon wallpaper off the walls shoved in massive glass display cases and frantically bought and painted War-Sword 4000 miniatures like a madman.
It wasn't just a hobby. Gluing microscopic plastic parts together with tweezers and inhaling toxic paint fumes in utter isolation was my only salvation from a nightmarish reality.
The very hobby she despised and mocked as pathetic was the only thing keeping me from jumping off the roof.
Her cheap love failed me but those tiny plastic soldiers and cold metal clippers saved my life.
That room was my survival bunker where I bled tears for twenty-two months trying to piece my shattered mind back together.
And now it sounded like a literal fucking bomb just went off inside my sacred sanctuary. My feet froze. Cold sweat drenched my palm still crushing the beer can.
"What the fuck..."
Was I finally having auditory hallucinations from chugging alcohol on an empty stomach? Or did my brain finally fry itself after binge-playing grand strategy games for three days straight?
A burglar? No the digital lock hadn't beeped and nobody was insane enough to scale a high-rise balcony. The only logical culprit was my stupid robotic vacuum. I must have left it running last night and it glitched out repeatedly ramming the display case legs.
Forcing myself to swallow that pure copium I grabbed an aluminum baseball bat I kept in the kitchen corner for self-defense.
Swallowing dry spit I crept down the hallway making zero noise. Sharp shards of shattered glass had spilled over the threshold onto the hallway floor. It wasn't a hallucination. It was way too violently destructive for a tiny vacuum.
Worse I could hear faint ragged breathing leaking through the cracked door. It was a low wheezing sound closer to a wounded wild beast than a human.
Ignoring the cold sweat trickling down my spine I gripped the aluminum bat with both hands. I reached out with a trembling hand grabbed the cold doorknob took a short breath and shoved the door wide open.
"Who the fuck is in here!"
The scene inside was absolute fucking chaos. My heart dropped to my stomach. The first thing I saw was one of the massive display cases horribly crumpled as if it had been hit by a literal meteor.
Thick tempered glass was pulverized across the floor sparkling under the fluorescent light like a bombed-out warzone.
"Oh god my babies..." I turned pale and frantically scanned the inside of the case.
Thank fucking god. The heavy aluminum frame had absorbed the brunt of the impact. Miraculously my astronomically expensive War-Sword 4000 Space Marine dioramas and Emperor Titan models were completely unharmed. The glass was gone but the plastic armies stood strong.
"Jesus christ I almost had a heart attack." I let out a massive sigh of relief letting my stiff shoulders drop. Knowing the only saviors that kept me sane during my lawsuit were safe made all the tension leave my body.
But that relief didn't even last a single second. I glanced down and my breath hitched.
Buried under a mountain of blunt safety glass chunks right in the middle of that dangerous shimmering sea of debris lay a girl.
"What the hell...?" I dropped the bat. It clattered against the floor as I frantically rubbed my eyes refusing to believe my own vision.
"Fuck I really shouldn't have chugged alcohol on an empty stomach. Three days of sleep deprivation and cheap beer finally made my brain go on strike."
I let out a hollow laugh and violently slapped my own cheek. A sharp stinging pain spread across my face.