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The urge to find another blade and open the scar on my leg flickered in my coal-black mind.
For ten minutes, Ily and I shared a silent shower, taking turns to rinse beneath the heavy pummel of water. Our bodies became clean, but my soul? That became darker than death.
Wringing out her hair, squeezing clear water not scarlet, Ily swayed into the wall.
“Oops.” She giggled.
My heart wrenched to a stop.
I’d never heard her make such a light-hearted sound before.
It was the quickest flare of brightness in my otherwise wretched existence.
Every atom in my body urged me to reach out and support her wobbly steps as she tripped drunkenly out of the shower and clung to the towel rail.
She giggled again as she patted the fluffy towel. “Sorry.”
She’s apologising to the furniture now?
I thought whatever that damn doctor gave her was supposed to be mild?
Wrenching off the shower, I stepped dripping wet onto the bathmat and caught my reflection. The glass above the white vanity fogged with steam, my image hazy and clouded. But even in the mist, my eyes seemed to burn a dull grey full of bone-deep exhaustion. A tiredness that didn’t just come from physical activity or the mental weariness of murder, but something so much deeper.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the wasted man staring back at me was on a slippery slope to burn out, and I didn’t really want to stop it.
If I burned out…this all ended.
I can finally rest.
Alone.
Wrapping herself in a towel, Ily hissed between her teeth, then walked with great concentration out of the bathroom.
Snatching a second towel from the rack, I dried off my hair and swiped my body dry. Agony bellowed in every inch. My arm never stopped bleeding, hinting that the lightheaded wooziness might not just be from thickening depression but also blood loss.
Wrapping the towel around my waist, I strode into the bedroom and spied Ily resting on the bed.
She lay star-fished beneath her towel. Arms and legs spread as if not wanting to touch any part of herself. Flat on her back where Kyle hadn’t been able to shoot her, she breathed shallowly through her nose, obviously still in a lot of pain.
I lingered over her.
The urge to cup her cheek and promise I’d make everything better almost broke whatever wasn’t broken inside me.
Everything I touch gets hurt…
Turning away, I fought the urge to run into the night and sacrifice myself to the churning, clawing chasm inside me.
I couldn’t cope like this.
I couldn’t be this way.
I wanted out.
I wanted to forget.
I want…
Christ.
