The cries he’d released imprinted themselves in my mind, devouring my senses as I drove myself home from the club. Even as I shifted gears, weaving in and out of traffic, they never ceased. I’d prayed for somebody to run me off the road, for a car to slip through an intersection and end my existence, but of course, life never granted me anything I desired.
Gripping the countertop in the space I shared with Matthew, I struggled to keep myself together. I was falling apart at the seams, every part of me coming undone. My fingertips dug into the underside of the tiles, and I desired nothing more than for the grout to nip at my flesh. But even as it did, the pain wasn’t enough.
Thiswasn’t enough.
I wasn’t enough.
“Fuck!” I screamed, my fist colliding with the mirror.
Glass shattered, jagged edges coming to form beneath my anguish. Looking up at the spiderweb of temptation, my chest rose and fell rapidly. Panic took over faster than I’d ever experienced in the past, its influence more impactful than any of the others I’d guided myself through. My throat closed, each breath becoming far harsher than the last. As spots lined my vision, I slipped two fingers beneath my neckline, trying to free myself from the noose that’d burrowed into my flesh, but I couldn’t.
There was no escape from the hell I’d created.
With Matthew still at the club, unaware I’d even left, I had time to act. I could end this, endmyself,because continuing to conform to the mask that the General had forced over my face was no longer an option. I’d rather take countless lashings until I forgot my own name than continue to inflict pain on those who deserved anything but. Harming Oren wasn’t something I could do again; it wasn’t something I’d mentally survive because I’d already reached my limit.
And it wasn’t Valens who’d driven me to my end; it was me.
Stumbling, I barely caught myself from meeting the ground. Tears clouded my vision, making it practically impossible to see. But who needed sight with shattered glass anyway?
Prying my nail beneath one of the larger pieces, I freed it from the frame. My reflection met me, a gaze of a man who’d died years ago, looking back at me, a man who’d screamed for reprieve for far too long. Continuing to hold my own stare, my back hit the wall. I slid down it, the sobs I’d swallowed through every beating and every loss wracking my frame.
“God… I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.I’m so fucking sorry.” I whimpered, every wall I’d built around myself crumbling into a pile of dust.
As I turned my arm, the scars of my past greeted me—the wounds I’d inflicted countless times only highlighting my continued failure. But not this time. There was no option other than death, for it wasn’t selfish, it wasn’t unwarranted, it wasneeded.
A cleansing in the ranks that’d taken far too long, an eradication General Valens had shoved off for a decade.
Fisting the shard, I basked in the immediate burn that ignited my palm, its jagged edges carving through my skin with ease. With a trembling hand, I brought the sharpened point to my forearm and positioned it against my wrist. Barely pushing down, the glass sliced through numerous layers with sickening ease. Crimson bloomed, seeping from the veins I’d undoubtedly punctured. The sight of it served as enough motivation for me to continue.
Pressing deeper, I bit my lip to prevent a sorrow-filled cry from escaping me. Agony shot up the entirety of my arm as I continued, and whether I hit bone or nerve, I didn’t give a damn. Ultimately, at the end of it all, there wouldn’t be anything left of me.
With one inhale, I fastened my hold, dragging the shard from my wrist to my elbow. Each inch became more unbearable than the last, but I fought against the instinctual need to stop, fixated on the river of blood pouring from my parted flesh.
A near-manic laugh escaped me, my body slackening as I slid down the wall. Struggling to lift the arm I’d mutilated, I offered it the key to my salvation, a key I’d once hoped Oren would become. Scarlet-coated fingers coiled around it, and without a second of contemplation, I carved through my tattooed flesh once more.
Once I finished, the glass slipped from my hold. As soon as it collided with the floor, it fractured more, serving as a metaphor of my already broken soul. Turning my head, I glanced up at the door with a fluttering gaze. The silver handle greeted me with a mocking gleam, but all I cared about was that it was locked, and luckily enough for me, it was.
At least I could do something right, I suppose. After years of failure, of faltering in the face of consequence, I could finally rid myself of the world.
My heartbeat slowed, and my temperature plummeted; the only warmth was the never-ending puddle that grew beneath me—my lineage. It was ironic, really, sitting in my own life force when so many others tainted my hands. Perhaps this was the concept of karma, but instead of another serving as its bite of retribution, I’d finally caved beneath the incessant pressure.
I’d known I was weak, but, surprisingly enough, I’d survived far longer than I thought I would.
My passing was warranted,needed. And now, every person whom I’d damned with my presence could finally live on without the shackles that merely came with knowing my name. When my heart stopped beating, it would be the means to a very tainted end, a moment that’d been a long time coming.
Everything in the room shifted into threes, my vision slipping from focus as my bodily functions approached cessation. My limbs quickly became heavy and unmovable, and I weakly smiled at the realization that my escape was far nearer than I’d anticipated. As each breath became shallower, I only willed myself to slip further away. Perhaps that made me a coward, but I truly had no fucks left to give. There was no reason to keep fighting, and Icouldn’t, not when all that followed me was an endless stream of affliction.
I was done.
Done.
The door handle rattled, a muffled voice breaking through. “Thorne, are you fucking someone? Open the door.”
Matthew.
Of course, he’d be the one to find my corpse, a sight I knew he’d never forgive me for. But ultimately, if I were dead, did it even matter?
At my silence, the pounding grew louder. “Fuck, Thorne, you know we have a no lock policy. Open thedamndoor.”
