She discarded the bottle on the floor and slunk further into the water, submerging her shoulders and the back of her head. Her limbs floated, and her drenched hair tickled the back of her waist.
If she were to slip under and swallow the water until her lungs were saturated, how long would it take for her to drown? To linger in that place between life and death, just for a moment—to disappear. The idea was nice. To release from her skin and leave behind the wounds and scars.
The shame, remorse, anguish, it was all too much to carry. Acacius, Father’s death, her hand in it, Mother’s imprisonment, the vow.
Marina thought back on that moment in the Land of the Dead, her vision blurred with tears, chest light, and Finnian, his expression twisted in rage, the syringe in his hand, charging for her.
She should’ve let him kill her then.
Death would’ve been a gracious punishment for my sins.
She closed her eyes, falling further into her abyss.
I hate myself.
She inhaled through her nose, sucking water up her nasal passage. It hit the back of her throat and burned.
I don’t want to be me anymore.
The contraction of muscle in her diaphragm felt like a tear, ripping straight through her ribcage. For the rest of her life, she would have to live with this pain.
She immersed herself completely under water.
Let me die.
Water flooded into her ears.
I am not strong enough to continue.
She opened her mouth and pulled water down her throat. The muscles in her chest quivered as her lungs seized.
I am so tired.
A twinge zapped down her spine, activating her senses to the sinister aura invading the room.
Fuck, he’s here.
She popped open her eyes and sprang up, the water splashing over her face and down her arms. Clenching the sides of her throat to suffocate her cough, she felt the tension in her chest, ridding the water from her lungs and evaporating it, as if she’d never swallowed it.
A silhouette knitted in the corner of the bathroom.
Marina’s body went rigid, prepared to teleport out of her bathwater.
Clothes first, then fight?
Her pulse roared in her ears as Malik stepped out from billowing tufts of his divine power.
Marina’s fists unclenched in the water, slightly relieved. Though, she wasn’t sure if she was more grateful or irritated that it was her psychotic little brother instead of Acacius.
Malik sauntered across the tile, his silver strands slicked back out of his face. Speckles of red stained his white button-up shirt. The long hem of his trench coat lapped at his ankles.
He did a slow spin in his step, taking in the room. “Having a nice little bath, are we?”
Marina kept her expression blank, pretending to be unbothered by his intrusion. She separated her mind and body from the anxiety flipping in her stomach. If she showed a flit of weakness, Malik would pounce like the predator he was.
He usually stayed out of her way, just as she did with him. His unannounced appearance, in her home of all places, was abnormal. Especially considering that he loathed the Mortal Land, for their kind broke far too easily, often boring him.
“It’s been a long day, Malik.” She rested her head back on the tub’s edge, retracting her attention from him. He was like a child that way. Hardly pay him the time of day, and he would grow uninterested—or throw a tantrum. Either way, her tolerance with the triplets was exceedingly low. “What do you want?”
