Nick told himself as he watched her walk away. I hate this friggin’ job! He looked around the room in disgust, broken glass on the floor, little bloody paw prints everywhere, a brokenhearted woman beating herself up, now on the way from his room to hers. He walked over to the window, put both palms against the sill and leaned over it, his head hanging low, hating himself and his job and people like that scum Eric Weyzinski. He hated hurting nice, pretty, innocent women and making them cry. He wouldn’t mind putting his fist through the window right now, but he was already bloody from the fight with the cat and his room already looked like someone had committed a mass murder here. He’d already fired his weapon and scared people once in the past twelve hours. More shattered glass, the potential for more blood and the need for more explanations were not good ideas. Still, he’d really like to smash that glass.
