I evaporated inside.
I’m in shock.
Daniel chuckled, continuing to tug me down corridors I didn’t recognise. I stopped paying attention, following like a good sheep, stumbling over a threshold I’d never crossed before.
He shoved me forward. “Welcome to your new home, bitch.”
I tripped forward, arms whirling, mind fighting against vertigo.
A loud slam ricocheted from behind me. A door. A prison gate.
I spun around, breathing hard. I didn’t have any words or energy left. I was sick, terrified, heartbroken. But through it all, I was numb.
I’d accepted my fate, acknowledged the truth, and finally seen what it all meant.
He’s truly, truly dead.
Daniel stalked toward me.
Automatically, my feet shuffled back—not from conscious instruction but some primal need for self-preservation. In reality, I no longer cared what happened. It was as if I watched myself from the safety of the ceiling, peering down at the poor unfortunate Weaver, no longer caring what happened to blood and bone when I no longer inhabited it.
He’s dead.
He’s dead.
I want to die, too.
Daniel never stopped corralling me around the space. Through blurry eyes, I took in the rich emerald brocade on his four-poster bed, the pricelessantiques, and moss-coloured walls. The shades of green looked like we’d traded indoors for some woodland glen.
He was the hunter, raising his shotgun to shoot the dismal deer.
I’m that deer.
His hands outstretched; face alight with manic lust. “You’re all mine now, Weaver. Locked in my room, bound to my rules, at my mercy. Fuck, this is gonna be good.”
My ears rang with his voice. My eyes smarted with his appearance. I wanted to leave—to chase Jethro into the stars. Suicide didn’t compute. Taking my own life didn’t register. It wasn’t a matter of life and death, killing or surviving, but about transcending from one world to another.
He’s not dead.
He’s just...evolved.
And I didn’t want him to leave without me.
We were a pair. A duo.
I’m done with this existence.
My mind was gone—unfocused and slow. But my body still wanted to survive. My feet tripped backward for every one of Daniel’s, but there was no finesse. I moved like a robot with no one at the controls.
From my sanctuary in the ceiling, I pitied the delusional girl below. Why was I backpedalling? Why prolong the inevitable? The sooner Daniel caught me, the sooner he would hurt me and ultimately send me to Jethro.
Let go.
Let it happen.
The numbness inside would block external pain, surely.
It was best to stop everything. To stop thinking, stop breathing, stop surviving.
