I'm not afraid of death. I'm afraid of leaving her with the fallout. I'm afraid of disappointing the only two people in the world who have ever meant a goddamn thing to me. But I'm more scared of hurting them over and over, of making them live with my mistakes, clean up my messes, and suffer at my hand.
“It's okay.” Dex promises. “We'll get you out of this. We've done it before, and we'll do it again. Relax.”
I nod, even though he can't see me.
Take a breath.
I pull her limp body into my arms, cradling her against me. She's still warm, still smells clean and sweet. Her skin is soft when I place one last kiss on her cheek, wrapping my arm around her with the blade in my hand.
“Dex?”
“Yeah, Cal?”
“Please hurry.”
“I'm coming as fast as I can. I need these cars to fucking MOVE! I just passed your place. I'll get her brother and be there in thirty minutes, forty minutes tops.”
Forty minutes tops.
She'll last longer than that. I dosed her enough that she won’t wake up before then.
“Thank you.” I breathe, relief flooding through me. “I really don't want her to see this.”
There's a beat of silence as I adjust my grip on the blade. It's the same one we used to kill together. The same one I fucked her with before I ever really knew her. Back when she was my little doll, and I was a stupid fool completely oblivious to how fucking wrong I was. I watched her pussy swallow the hilt over and over again.
Now I wrap my fingers tighter around it, my eyes on the wicked blade that I held tight, letting it bite into my fingers until my blood flowed over her like an offering.
That was my first offering.
This is my last.
“Cal!” I hear Dex's voice, a tangle of noises coming through the phone over my head. But I exhale, letting it all fade away as I focus on the point of the blade.
To stab yourself in the chest, you need some sort of leverage. Otherwise, you may let up the minute the blade pierces you.
My treacherous heart, useless thing it is, deserves to be pierced through with the blade. But it's not practical.
I've heard that slashing your wrists is easy to do. You just follow the vein. Start at your wrist, press down hard, and tear.
But too many people botch that. Too many people do the first one, and then survival instinct kicks in before they can do the other, before they can bleed out.
My beautiful little nightmare had it figured out when she apparently researched how to kill.
Go for the jugular.
46
Dex
I've never been as scared as I am right now. I only threw on pants, not bothering to find where my shirt landed in the mess of covers and clothing. I didn't even have a chance to explain to Katrina where I was going; I just kissed her quickly on the forehead and rushed out of there.
My fear has only deepened with each new thing that comes out of his mouth. He's not making any sense.
Cal's called me every time he needs help. And yet, he's never sounded like this... broken.
“You're going to lose respect for me, brother.” His breath hitches like he's doing his best not to cry. I don't get the chance to tell him that's not possible. I've known him for almost all of his life. I know the shitstorm he survived as a child, the hell he escaped the day he left his family behind. And something tells me I’ve only ever known half of it. The fact that he's come as far as he has, after everything, has earned my respect forever. I know his heart, know he doesn't kill for fun, and know he doesn't delight in causing pain. Nothing could ever make me lose respect for him. “So just remember me the way I used to be, okay? Before all this…”
“Cal,” I tense my fingers on the steering wheel, hating the helplessness I feel right now. He won't talk to me in a way that makes sense, so I don't know what to say to him. I don't want him to do anything stupid. I thought this girl was different. I didn't think he'd hurt her. But if he did, we can fix it. We can't bring the dead back to life, but we can spin the narrative. We can make sure he doesn't end up on death row if he just refrains from doing anything insidious, if we can stage it like an accident somehow. “I—”
