Broken Hearts

He slammed the door as hard as he could.
He ignored the shocked silence just outside his office, where he had just uncharacteristically blown a torrent of abuse over a colleague's mistake.
He propped himself with his hands against the back of the chair nearest him. Deep breath. His neck felt tense, and his temples tight. He became acutely aware of the pounding in his chest, the tightening behind his eyes. His vision melted together into a blurry mess.
He'd left his meeting in full swing, ignoring the startled members calling after him. He was late, and the traffic was heavy. He'd slipped his car between other cars, and climbed the kerbs to get there as soon as he can. The cursed phone rang and rang; he ignored it knowing it would be the office. He'd had a rough week, and things hadn't gotten any better.
She was visibly upset when he got there, and before he could explain, they were in a full blown argument and she'd stormed off. He kicked at the shattered remains of his phone, hurled to the ground in the heat of the argument.
He'd gone off and doused his fury, and instead of heading home, went back to his office, and sat there in the dark, contemplating. He regretted the things he had said, and the things he had done, but she refused to answer his calls, and she didnt even answer the door.
It set the tone for the day, his mood most foul; and when his colleague told him about the slip up, the poor fellow got the short end of the stick.
And here he was, regretting everything he's had over the last one week. He wished he could restart his week and do the things right; at the least, even if they could not have agreed, he would not have said the things he said and she would not have walked off in a huff. He longed to be able to set things right, to put his arms around her and kiss her; and feel her warmth; and that she didn't turn up to work today he felt even worse and he suddenly felt that everything had ended.
He wanted her here. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He wanted to tell her he loved her.
He clutched the back of the chair harder as the room began to spin. He had to get her back. The pounding in his chest now deafened his ears; his skin had broken in cold sweat and a bitter distaste grew in the back of his mouth. He wanted her back.
And he crashed to the floor as everything around him grew dark.