The bedroom was swallowed by complete darkness. Outside, thick clouds blocked even the faintest starlight, leaving only an endless void pressing against the windows.
Kolton sat on the cold hardwood floor, his broad shoulders pressed against the bed frame. Empty bottles lay scattered around him like fallen soldiers. His fingers wrapped around another bottle, knuckles white from his grip.
His dark eyes burned with a wild intensity that spoke of a man pushed beyond his limits. The composed mask he wore for the world had finally cracked. Kolton Zachary never showed weakness. He never broke. But tonight, the foundation of his carefully constructed walls was crumbling.
He tilted the bottle back, letting the harsh liquid scorch his throat. The burn was nothing compared to the fire eating him alive from the inside.
