Remu's arm flung another wine bottle across the room. It hit the wall with a heavy smash, glass shards raining down like angry little stars. The table she'd flipped earlier was still lying on its side, two of its legs broken. Chairs were scattered. One of the lamps had a crooked neck, flickering like it was scared.
She stood in the middle of it all—barefoot, breath sharp, eyes wild.
Her red leather jacket was tossed on the bed. Her hair clung to her sweaty face as she grabbed the edge of a dresser and shoved it, hard. The mirror above it cracked straight through the middle. Her reflection split down her nose.
"DAMN IT!" she screamed.
She kicked the dresser next. It didn't move.
Her boots made heavy thuds against the wood floor as she paced.
"I gave them everything," she muttered, eyes wide. "Everything. His history, his blood, the fact that he survived a werewolf bite for fuck's sake! What more do you people need?!"
She grabbed a whiskey glass and threw it at the TV.
