Page 88 of Ruin

She stared at the bill in her hand, her eyebrow raising. “Oh…I mean, the glass was only eleven dollars…”

I stopped her, putting my hand in front of me and lowering my voice. “Just promise me you will think about it.”

She stared at me, brows stitched together as she mumbled, “Yeah…I mean…I guess. I can think about it.”

I smiled as I stood from my seat, legs heavy as I pushed the chair in. I turned from the bar, only to stop and turn toward her once again. “Oh.” I rested my hands on the bar top and leaned in. “What is your name?”

Her eyes lit up as she folded the bill into her apron. “Claire.”

Claire.

Every ounce of restraint I had radiated in my body as I spoke. “Very nice to meet you, Claire.” I paused, soaking her in through my gaze. “See you again soon.”

Before she could respond, I turned toward the door and made my way out into the cold once again, allowing my resolve to turn to steel as I settled with the burning sensation that only grew stronger as I walked away.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Arik

Iperched silently on the roof’s edge, my eyes drawn to the window of the room where Claire lay. The scene inside was both agonizing and surreal. From my vantage point, I could see Sam working with a fervor that spoke of desperation and fury. Each motion, every action he took, was a reminder of my own failure. I was a specter of guilt, hovering above the chaos I had unleashed.

The sight of Claire’s still form was a visceral punch to the gut. My heart—a heart that I thought I had long since emptied of its capacity for such things—sank under the weight of what I had done. I saw Sam’s hands, moving with a practiced efficiency that belied the intensity of his emotions. His face was a mask of concentration, but I could sense the undercurrent of fear and anger that propelled his every move.

Claire’s pale skin was marred by the dark stain of her blood. Blood rolled down the edge of the bed where her arm was lying before Sam. His fingers were swift, applying pressure to the bite marks with an urgency that left no room for error. I watched as he worked tirelessly, his movements a blur of focused action. The sight of her blood seeping through his fingers, the slow, agonizing process of him trying to save her. It was almost more than I could bear.

Subtle tremors shook Sam’s hands as he fit a tourniquet above the wound. His breath was steady but quick, a rhythm that matched the urgency of his task. The scalpel gleamed under the harsh light as he cut open Claire’s arm, revealing the depths of the injury. I could see his expression tighten, a mix of concentration and horror as he worked to locate the artery. Each second felt like an eternity, and the weight of my actions pressed heavily upon me.

I wish I were dead.

Every beat of Claire’s weakening pulse felt like a drum, a relentless reminder of my failure. My mind was a storm of regrets and remorse. I had tried to control the beast within, to contain my darkest desires, but it had all unraveled in the worst conceivable way. Watching Sam’s hands moving deftly to stitch Claire’s wound, to repair the damage I had caused, was both a relief and a torment. The finality of each stitch was a stark reminder of the irreversible damage I had inflicted.

I could not be near her. I could not stand there and watch another man fix my mess. I could not have her open her eyes and see the monster that did this to her.

And God forbid, I could not be there if her soul left her body.

When Sam finally turned to administer the blood transfusion, I felt a strange mixture of hope and dread. The sight of the blood bag hanging, its contents slowly making their way into Claire’s system, was a small comfort. Her pulse, weak but gradually strengthening, was a flicker of hope in the overwhelming darkness.

I remained a shadow on the periphery, feeling like an intruder in the room of my own creation. The moonlight that bathed the room seemed almost cruel, highlighting the stark contrast between the serenity of the night outside and the turmoil within. Each heartbeat, each labored breath, was a testament to my failure. I had tried to offer her eternity, but all I had given her was pain.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as Sam continued his work, his determination evident in every movement. I could see his shoulders tense with the weight of his task, his eyes scanning Claire’s still form with a mixture of frustration and hope. Each breath she took, each small improvement, was a fragile victory, a momentary reprieve from the brink of disaster.

Sam finally left the room, his face, a mixture of exhaustion and resolve. I remained in the shadows, my soul heavy with the weight of my actions. The silver of remaining moonlight cast long, mournful shadows across the room, and I felt as if I were fading into the darkness.

In the silence that followed, I was left with nothing but the haunting knowledge of my failure. The promise I had made, the future I had hoped to share with Claire—it all felt like a distant, cruel joke. The weight of my actions, the pain I had caused, was an unending echo in the night, a reminder of the darkness within me that had nearly consumed everything I had ever cared about.

My life was officially over. We could never recover from this.

I was destined for an eternity of torment, regrets, and heartbreak.

I had waited all this time to show her love, to give her everything she wanted. But the beast within me had taken over, and in a moment of uncontrollable rage. The blood on my skin, the way Claire screamed—these images were seared into my mind, haunting me with every second I tried to forget.

I stood alone on the roof, the cold tiles beneath me grounding me in the present. I had run from Claire as quickly as I could, taking control of the beast just long enough to remove myself from causing her further harm. After I regained control over myself completely, I cleaned myself up and put on the clothing I kept in my office—anything to mask the horror of what I had done. But no matter how much I tried to erase the traces, the stain of my actions remained.

Sam’s footsteps on the ladder were a faint echo before he appeared. His eyes, wild with fury and pain, locked onto me, and his rage exploded. His closed fist into my cheek came with a force that jolted my body but barely registered in my numb mind. I stayed standing, feeling the impact like a ghost, unable to react.

“Sam, sit,” I commanded, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. I needed to control this moment, to contain the spiraling chaos before it consumed me further. But Sam was not having it. He was furious, his eyes glistening with unshed tears and raw anger.

He cried out, his voice breaking as he screamed, “I thought you said you wouldn’t hurt her!”