(Fair is foul and foul is fair)

The anger in his heart was overwhelming his whole body, fire surged through each of the cell that resided in his physique. It was unfair that everything was happening; there was no excuse for what he has done.

His fallen face was replicated by the mirror, the frame trapping his angry soul in a solemn painting.

The tiles beneath his floor felt cold even with the jeans that should have kept them warm. The sound of his anguished moans flooded the room. The sound bouncing back in forth from the tub to the sink where he has let his tears fall, for it to swallow part of his sorrows away.

His mouth was being calmed by his hand, the moan being covered away to stop them from fleeing him and denying his emotions for the white tiles to hear.

His knees met the floor in bitter resentment; it shouldn't have happened to him, not him. But what force was that in the air that pulled all the evil tricks on him? What crime has he committed to deserve such treatment from someone he loved with all his heart and soul?

His white coat was dripping with freezing rain spit as it fell like a puddle on the floor of his lonesome apartment. The door gave him that dramatic preview of his colorless clothing, the empty space that was used by the door when it is closed telling him a piece of a lonesome home.

It was his first night alone.

It'll take time for him to heal.

If ever he heals.

(Hover through the fog and filthy air)

A/N: I'm just quoting Macbeth because I like Macbeth, that's all, so the quote serves no purpose to be frank.