He flushed the toilet, looking at the rim, checking it was clean.

His fists clenched. He shouldn’t have to check the toilet rim was spotless. He shouldn’t flinch every time the house creaked. He shouldn’t have to feel like less of a man, or not even a man, because of the things Casey did to him.

He looked in the mirror, disgusted with what he found. His hair was greasy and matted. His face was covered in patchy stubble. He looked like he’d given up.

It couldn’t be Scott. Scott would never allow himself to sink so easily into despair, into apathy, into whatever was gripping him. Ebbs and flows, but never black then white, nor white then black.

Easing into madness…

Is it sweeter?

Shouting, he smashed his fist against the reflection, splintering it. Glass bit into his palm but he didn’t care. He roared and grabbed the unit, yanking it away from the wall and throwing it across the room. Plastic and glass erupted, and then Scott was in the bedroom, picking up handfuls of clothes, tearing everything to pieces.

How much was this one? A hundred pounds, a thousand?

He tore it and threw the remains onto the bed. He scooped up big handfuls and ran into the bathroom, not caring when the glass stabbed into his bare feet. He threw them down the toilet, flushed the chain, watching as the water rose and spilled over the edge.

Back into the bedroom, he began punching the TV. It was one of Casey’s expensive ones. He punched until his fist bled and then turned to her vanity unit, only realising he was crying when the sounds of his sobs hit his ears.

He grabbed her vanity unit and spun, gripping it so hard splinters flaked away in his palms. His back gave a twinge as it crashed into the wall, one of the legs snapping away.

Collapsing to his knees, he bowed his head, his chest heaving.

He stayed like that for a long time, and then, once his breathing had slowed and the haze had cleared from his thoughts, he realised he needed to fix it.

If Casey discovered he’d destroyed her new vanity unit, her pride and joy, one of the only absurdly expensive items she actually used…

Scott looked at the clock. It was already two in the afternoon. He’d spent half the day lying in bed, not even sleeping.

“Idiot,” he chided himself. “Fuck’s sake.”

He knelt next to the unit. It was only the leg that had snapped off, but there was some structural damage to one of the drawers. From the angle the unit had fallen at, Scott was able to see the underside of the drawer.

He was able to see a notebook, held in place with four strips of duct tape.

Scott grabbed it, even as he knew his punishment would be much worse if he added snooping to his list of crimes.

But this was too good to ignore. A notebook, maybe giving him something he could use against her?