I glance over at where I know my plant is sitting and bury the sadness. It feels like a betrayal to be doing this, to be leaving it behind. What will its fate be once I am gone? Will they simply toss it out? Discard it alongside my lifeless corpse?
I shake my head, burying those thoughts. I cannot live for a plant alone. And besides, in less than three years I will be gone from this place. I will be removed. I cannot control what happens to it once that happens.
But I can control what happens to me.
My hands are trembling as I pull the knife out. I grip it tightly, so tightly my knuckles hurt. The blade is dull, I know that from the way it cut through the grapefruit earlier, from the way I had to carve and carve and carve. Will I have to do that with my own flesh too? It won’t be easy. It won’t clean up nicely, but I don’t care about that. I care about the finality. Theact. I need to feel it.
I slice my arm, hard, through the thin fabric of my pyjamas. The dull edge catches, resists, and sinks in with a ragged tearing sound. Pain explodes, sharp and agonizing.
It’s not deep, though.
The blade refuses to go deep.
I grunt, clench my muscles, thinking of my mother, thinking of my father too and I dig with all the force I have left.
Blood wells up, dark and wet against the fabric.
Not enough. Notdeepenough.
The dull edge is a joke.
It’s a pathetic, mocking imitation of death.
I try my wrist. Again, the resistance is there, the cut far too fucking shallow. My blood drips onto the floor, but it’s not nearly enough.
I try my thigh. Same thing. This stupid, blunt thing! It’s notdoinganything! It’s just… cutting. Aching. Bleeding. But not dying.
Then the door crashes open. Not the silent click like usual, but a violent, echoing BANG that shakes the walls. My heart nearly stops, and the knife clatters to the floor with a damning sound.
Two men pour in. They don’t waste time looking around; their eyes are fixed on me, on the struggle I’ve failed to make. One lunges, and a hand like a steel clamp grabs my wrist, fingers digging into my flesh even as he twists and wrenches me around.
A cold collar, hard and metallic snaps around my neck, biting into my skin. Before I can even register the shock, a jolt travels through my body, making me cry out.
They keep shocking me, their hands on my shoulders pinning me down until the muscles in my arms and shoulders scream in protest and the fight spills out of me. Leaving me weak and shaking, staring up at the suddenly so bright overhead light.
Mrs Vale’s face appears, her eyes cruel, mocking.
Leaning down, she smiles, an unpleasant curve of the lips. Her breath smells faintly of both expensive perfume and disinfectant.
Her fingers brush against my unruly hair in a manner far too fucking delicate.
“Couldn’t even manage a clean attempt, Grace,” she says, her voice dripping with faux pity and scorn. She straightens up, her gaze sweeping over my cuts, over the blood staining my clothes. “Barely a graze, that’s all. Did you even want to try? Or was this all just for some pitiful need for attention?”
“Fuck you.” I spit back, losing the façade, losing the calm, losing grip of what little sanity I have left.
She lets out a chuckle as the men start tying my wrists and ankles, binding me to the cold metal frame of the bed.
“Soon,” She replies. “Only a few more years, and then I’ll be there. We’ll all be there, witnessing your ruin.”
“You were stupid to even attempt it.” I snap. I know I should be comforting her. I should be calming her down, but right now I’m so fucking furious.
And I’m tired too, exhausted. Clearing up Esau mercenaries isn’t exactly easy. Flying halfway across the continent because of her antics doesn’t help.
She scowls at me, yanking on the bindings. “I don’t regret it.” She snarls. “And as soon as I get the chance, I’ll do it again.”
I shake my head, staring down at her, staring down at where the nightgown she’s wearing is becoming see-through with all the sweat. I can see her breasts, at least the hint of them. It doesn’t help that the room is cold enough to ensure her nipples are hard. My eyes drop further, staring between her thighs, to where I know she’s unshaven. Before the auction they’ll fix that. They’ll have her shaved, prepped, all her holes ready to be used and abused.
I let out a sigh, burying the wave of complex feelings at that notion.
