Despite her friend's protestations, Francine insisted on seeing the damage at her place. Somehow, though, hearing it secondhand just didn't compare to seeing it in person. The moment she walked in her door and saw the devastation, the jokes she'd cracked the whole way over-such as, "I hope she didn't mess with my dildo collection"-dwindled as disbelief took over.
Jenny hadn't just tossed the place, she'd ruined it. From the slashed cushions on her couch to the smashed china and lamps, the crazy bitch left nothing intact. She'd dumped all her clothes on her mattress and poured bleach on them, shredded her pictures, written on the walls? Everywhere she looked, Francine saw devastation and meaningless violence. Against her. And her only mistake? Wanting the man she knew belonged to her.