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Pinching the bridge of my nose, I backed away.
What I wanted I could never have, and if I tried, I’d only hurt her worse.
With shaky hands, I grabbed the medical supplies Rose had gathered for us, then carted them back into the bathroom.
Wiping off the mirror, I rummaged in the packets of bandages, arnica cream, and other salves.
I found salvation in distraction.
I did everything I could to avoid looking into the black maw growing ever bigger inside me. Tendrils of midnight wrapped around me, tugging me closer, closer…
My breath came faster as I found a small packet with a sterilised needle and surgical thread. I stared at my stab wound and imagined sewing myself together like a cobbler with leather.
The room tilted.
My breathing turned raspy.
My chest expanded until the contusion on my side glowed with dirty colours.
I fell into that swirl of pain.
My eyesight blurred at the edges.
I hyper-fucking-ventilated.
Blackness exploded through me, strangling me, throttling me—
My knees buckled as a fear I’d never felt before hammered into every bone.
Clutching the sink, I bent over the vanity, and panted.
I fucking panted and gasped, shaking and quaking as frenzied panic ripped through me.
It vised my chest, gagged my throat, and murdered me with every bad thing, wrong urge, and despicable desire.
I almost lost her.
I came face to face with it all.
Every decision.
Every choice.
I fucking despised myself.
The things I’ve done—
I retched.
Empty stomach acid burned my throat and splashed into the sink. Black despair spewed up and out, purging with every choke. Sweat dripped down my back as I pressed my forehead to the tap and rode out the spasms. The familiar regurgitation that’d punished me my entire life did its best to cripple me.
And for once, I was grateful.
So fucking thankful that the overload of insidious poison inside siphoned down the drain. I didn’t vomit food. I vomited up my very essence.
By the time I stopped, I could barely stand.
She needs you…
