Fall.
Deianira Bronfell did not fall.
Shewouldnot fall.
And yet, she had.
Ana gripped the iron in her hands to the point her fingers went numb. Her vision tunneled as rage poured through her.
No, this was beyond rage. This was vision black, out of body, deliriouswrath.
“I…hate… you,” she seethed, every word a heavy breath. Saliva dribbled from her lips, hair falling wildly around her face. “I…hate…. you!”
Had she been a witch, it would have been a curse. Her anger would have brought the dead back to life. She couldn’t feel her body—only hatred and betrayal where her heart should have been. A numbness from the pain inflicted on her knees crashing into the ground as they never had before.
“I HATE YOU!”
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
Sobbing.
Dripping.
He paused again, and she jerked against the bars, writhing and pushing and pulling, willing her strength to break it down with her bare hands, if only she jerked hard enough. “SAM!”
His name shrieked from her lips before she could stop it.
“SAM!…SAM!”
It was a scream in such a blood-curdling, high pitch that the window shattered. Glass fell into her hair and cut her face. But she didn’t care.
She screamed his name again and again until she couldn’t feel her throat. Until she couldn’t catch her breath and she choked on the vomit coming up from her stomach.
But he never came back.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you.
Tears fell from her that she couldn’t stop. She’d not let herself fall into such a pit since her home was destroyed; even that hadn’t felt like this.
Nothingfelt like this.
Audible cries left her. She couldn’t hold it in. Her head hit the stone wall as she sank against it, knees pulled into her chest, blood pooling in her blistered hands from the glass that had shattered around her.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I loved you.
I love you.
