Can't Find My Way Home

I awoke with a start, the phone was ringing loudly from the kitchen. I sat up from the floor where I had fallen asleep last night, the tiles were cold and there was bits of shattered glass everywhere. I looked into the kitchen and felt physically sick looking at all the potential places he could have 'entertained' women while I wasn't here. I got up and walked over to the phone cradle, picking it up and answering with a simple, tired hello, I waited for a response. "Hello?" my voice was strained and coarse, it still sounded like I was choked with tears. I listened intently, all I could hear was squabbling on the other end.
"I can't do it, I can't, no.. I'm sorry.." I heard faintly, before anoter voice said, 'dude', and the phone call was ended. This happened throughout the day, I'd answer, they wouldn't, they'd hang up. I didn't get mad at them, I had no energy to, I had somehow managed to bottle everything up and was running on some sort of auto-pilot, throwing all of his clothes and belongings over the banisters from upstairs, down to the ground below. We had a very large townhouse in New York, it was beautiful. But the thing with town houses is, that if a woman scorned wants to throw her betraying husbands belongings over a banister, they have a long way to fall, and a nice, solid surface to land on.

The house stank, or so I thought, I opened all the doors and windows and let the autumn breeze blow through. I stood on the roof and looked out over the city, I half wished I could see into New Jersey, but I couldn't. I pushed all thoughts from my head and picked up the stack of photo frames I had picked up from the top two levels of my house. As I walked down the stairs I took great pleasure in throwing them at the ground and seeing them break. The floor was covered in shards of glass, bent and broken frames, and torn photos, I put on a pair of boots and walked over it all. I walked over the past six years, and collected more photo frames. The phone rang again, I didn't answer it, I wasn't in the mood to be prank called for the fiftieth time today. It flicked on to answering machine, it was Tom, explaining that he had filed for divorse, claiming irreconcilable differences, the lying bastard. A surge of hatred washed over me and I began throwing the photo frames at the walls, I was raging mad. So mad I didn't notice the people standing at my open front door, so mad I didn't see them when I hurled a photo frame in their general direction. It was the last one, I collapsed on the floor, onto the debris below me and gripped my head tightly in my hands.

"Holy shit Dill.." a voice said, it didn't register at first, but when I lifted my head to see, it was like someone had popped my heart with a pin and all the hurt came gushing out. I cried, and cried, and cried, so much so I was shaking. "Shh.. It's okay.. it's okay.." he said hugging me close and rocking me back and forth. "Calm down.. come on, tell me what's wrong." I couldn't talk, words would not form coherently, all that would come out was sobs and pieces of words. "What's happened? Tell me what's happened to get you like this.."
"Mikey.." I bawled, gripping him close to me, not wanting him to leave. He opened his cell and called someone, while I continued to break down.
"Dude, you need to get in here now.. I don't know, just get here and you'll understand."