Blood on the corners of equations, smudged across the margins, blotting out half the numbers. Blood on the pencils, too. On all of them.
I’m bleeding, I think. I might have been for a while. But I can’t, for the life of me, remember why. Or when it started. Or where the cut even is.
Christian left hours ago. Took Elliot with him. Said nothing, but I could see the tightness in his shoulders. He’s been stressed lately. That may have something to do with me.
I wonder if Christian would help me when the time comes. If he would lower himself—stoop to that level—for me.
I suppose he would.
A knock shakes the doorframe, and Will enters without waiting for an answer. His white hair is a mess, his eyes wide in something I imagine is horror.
“What is it?” I say evenly, though the frustration seeps through my words.
Will doesn’t answer. He stands in the doorway a moment, then lets his gaze drag slowly across the wreckage. The dent in the wall. The shards of glass littering the carpet. The blood.
Only then does he cross the room and kneel in front of me.
“What’s the matter with you?”
I tilt my head slightly, suppressing a smirk. “I presume Christian called you here.”
Will says nothing. Just stares.
And I almost roll my eyes. The silence, the earnestness toward me—it’s so veryWill.
And then Will reaches out, lightly taking my chin between his fingers, leaning in as if he intends to steady me.
In truth, all the gesture does is make my skin crawl.
“Stop touching me.”
I jerk back, tearing from his grip.
“Are you alright?” he asks, and it’s almost laughable.
So I laugh. A soft, crumbling sound.
“No,” I say. “No, I’m afraid I’m not.”
He says something I don’t quite hear. I think I may have replied, though I can’t be sure. All I know is I hate the look he gives me. Like I’m something fragile.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say flatly, and with more aggression than I intended. “Like some lovesick dog waiting for scraps.”
Will goes still. His face changes, sharp and pale all at once. His mouth opens, then closes again.
When he finally speaks, it comes out slightly hoarse.
“You’re not serious. Are you, Kai?”
I rise shakily to my feet. “On the contrary,” I say. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
Will shakes his head. “Kai,” he says, and I don’t miss the reluctance in his tone, “I hate to say this, but I think… you need help.”
I glare at him, nostrils flaring as the world reels around me. “And what exactly would I say to them?” I ask coldly. “That I’m going mad? That sometimes, I want to watch everything burn, and sometimes I can’t think of anything else?”
He looks at me. Not startled. Just still.
“Is that what you want?” I ask. “Is that what you fucking want?”
