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“Being a professional bad person is the baseline for joining a mafia, sweetheart,” he whispers, near my ear, as he draws my hair back and kisses my cheek. “Didn’t you know that?”
“I did.” I sniff. “But now I’m mad about it.” I hate everything. “Why do I even bother?” My face is sticky. I’m uncomfortable. I don’t want anyone near me. I don’t want anything. “Life is meaningless. And I’m tired. So…so tired.”
“Sweetheart…” Something in the broken tone of his voice sounds almost…pleading.
Tilting my face from the pillow, I stare ahead at the wall beside the open bathroom door. It’s all shadows, dark and darker. “What did you hope to achieve with this?” My voice is hollow, foreign even to my own ears. “The worst secret I have…doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
“I’m not after your secrets, princess. You got carried away during a drinking game. Subverting all expectations, it turns out you’re competitive.” He presses the cool back of his hand to my cheek, and I hear the desperate attempt at humor lining the hopeless edges of his warm, deep voice.
I ignore it.
“The worst secret I have,” I whisper, “is that I don’t want to be alive anymore.”
His fingers flinch against me.
“I wasn’t always this tired,” I continue, every aching muscle in my body limp. “I don’t…know what happened.”
“Shh…” He swallows, close enough for me to hear his breath hitch as he wraps his arms around my waist, drags my back to his chest. “You’ll be okay.”
I won’t.
I really won’t.
“What a joke,” I mutter. “Don’t you ever get tired of pretending to be so good?” My hand lowers to his arm, and my nails dredge into his flesh. “You kill and torture people. You’re terrible.”
“I know.”
“The worst person ever.”
His muscles tighten. “Yeah.”
“I hate you.” My nails break skin.
“Briar, please…” he whispers, hoarse.
“I can’t stand anything about you. You’re so stupid. And frustrating. And barely even worth my time.” My voice breaks as I choke on my own tears. “I hate you. So much. How pathetic do you have to be to wander after anyone who has the confidence to tell you what to do? You’re a pet begging for a master. You’ll follow any orders if they’re presented to you with enough logic and reason. Have a backbone,” I spit. “I—” I swear. “—hate you.”
His fist clenches around my dress, and a seam tears.
“You’re pitiful.”
My clothes rip as he grasps them, forces me onto my back, and snatches his pillow from my arms. Cold air splays across my stomach as he thrusts the pillow across the room. Lamp light gleams in his dark eyes. Shaking fingers pull through my hair and grip. “Stop.”
Sneering, I let my lip curl. “Why should I? Don’t tell me you prefer the pretty lies? You’re cruel.” I’m cruel. “You’re weak.” I’m weak. “You’re nothing.” I’m…
Hovering over me, trembling with barely restrained fury, he looks deadly and beautiful. Like a Grim Reaper. An angel of death. The salvation and retribution I’ve been yearning for so long.
“Kill me,” I beg.
The harrowing anger in his eyes shatters.
“Please.” Slowly, I lift my arms, let my fingertips skim his rough cheeks.
Is it too much to hope for nothingness in the moments beyond life? After all, people like me don’t wind up in anything close to Heaven. All I want now is an eternal, dreamless sleep.
“Please…” I croak. Hot tears pour down my cheeks, sticking in my hair and the shells of my ears. “Please. I’ll never be good enough for you, or anyone. Not—” My sore throat closes. “—not anymore.” Soundlessly, while darkness creeps up on me, I mouth please again.
As my vision begins to fade and the sheer weariness congealing in me takes hold, droplets splash onto my forehead, then gentle lips press deep into my skin.
