I can’t move at all. I’m frozen in my non-responsive body, staring in horror as she looks down at me.
“I have to, you see,” she says quietly. “It’s why Cesare and I can never be together. There’s too many other women—you and Chiara included. It blocks the auras between him and me.” She smiles sadly at me. “I always liked you, Lark,” she says, her voice even and emotionless. “Even if no one else knew, when you came back and they told everyone that you were Dove…” She taps the side of her head with the flat edge of the knife. “Iknew. So I’m sorry.”
She drops to her knees next to me. The tub is still filling with water, and I watch in paralyzed dread as she lifts my limp arm and pushes the sleeve of my sweatshirt up past my elbow.
“I’ll do it how you would want,” she says with a smile on her face. “Nothing messy.” Her smiling face raises to mine. “You deserve to look pretty for your funeral, darling.”
No.
No, God, no.
Let me move.
Let me fight for my life.
But as hard as I try, all I can do is make my hand twitch a little.
Melinda notices the twitch and shakes her head. “No, don’t worry. It won’t even hurt! The paralyzing agent takes that away, too.” A slight shadow crosses her face when she looks into my tearful eyes. “Oh, don’t cry, Lark. I know you’re sad about your father. But once I remove all the other women, he’ll be okay. He’s going to be fine, you'll see! And we’ll finally be together! The fight we had in my room the other day…he was so mad! But it will all be okay now!”
I want to scream that killing me won’t bring back my dad, who Iknowis dead upstairs becauseshe shot him.
But I can’t.
That doesn’t stop me from trying, though.
My muscles strain, my mind screaming foranything. My fingers twitch. My shoulder spasms.
It’s not enough.
My eyes land on Bane. He’s still breathing, but I can tell he's fading in and out as his eyes stay locked on me. I focus my hazy, blurry gaze on him, screaming silently for him to see that I see him.
That I love him.
I grit my teeth, forcing strength I don’t have into my muscles. I can feel my hand and shoulder twitch again.
Still not enough.
I recoil inwardly when Melinda sits on a little stool next to the tub and pats my bare arm where she’s pushed up my sweatshirt, then turns it until my wrist is facing up.
“This won’t hurt, honey,” she says quietly.
No.
No!
Melinda holds up the kitchen knife and smiles at me.
“You wrote in your diary once about this. I hope it's everything you wanted.”
NO!!!
Hot tears flood my face as she brings the razor-sharp tip of the knife to my wrist. The metal brushes my skin, and I watch my vein jump beneath it.
Please, don’t.
I don’t want to die.
I'm too happy.
