Anne is still sleeping. Her long lashes cast a fan-shaped shadow over her eyes. The little white face is quiet and beautiful.
He gazes at her face. His face is ghastly pale and his eyes are scarlet like hell. His strong hands with thunder anger rise, hesitates for a moment, smashing hard on the wall. With a sound of a bone joint misalignment muffled, white wall is left with a fist mark. Blood drops flow down.
He has no idea how he got to the hospital parking lot. Getting into his car, he slams on the gas, turns the steering wheel wildly to the right, and then heads into downtown center. The car scratches a long scratch on the guardrail, just like his wounded heart.
The shrill engine reverberates through the quiet streets and the mad Lamborghini, like a runaway horse, rampages through the brightly lit streets. Pedestrians and vehicles are dodging. Screeching is all over the streets.
