The Eye of the Storm

The hurricane made landfall the same night the police found Brian's body. He had drowned himself in his own bathtub, his skin covered in frantic, self-inflicted scratches. I sat in the dark, clutching the ugly clay figurine he had forced into my hands yesterday, listening to the wind scream like a living thing. When the figurine slipped from my sweating palms and shattered on the floor, revealing what was hidden inside, I stopped breathing. I realized the storm outside wasn't just passing through—it had come specifically for me.