Adrenaline surges through my veins.
I turn over, my body obeying me once more as I lean up on my elbows, straining my gaze in the moonlight.
Sullen is on top of a man who is now holding the blade tohisthroat, just over his white bandana. Sullen’s hand is pressed over the man’s face entirely, his fingertips curled in, palm jutting against the man’s nose. My monster boy has his chin lifted, eyesdowncast in a blank, dark stare, other hand wrapped around the man’s wrist, trying to prevent his own throat from getting cut.
“Sullen.”I scramble upright, unsteadily getting to my feet. The blood seems to leave my head in a rush and I am forced to crouch over, hands on shaky knees. I think I might pass out, the way black spots burst before my closed eyes as I try to breathe so I can help Sullen.
“Do not,” he snarls, and I know he’s talking to me.“Do. Not.”
I can’t help but smile, despite all of this. “I don’t listen to you,” I whisper.
A grunt comes from the man on the floor.
I take another deep breath, inhaling iron, feeling my own blood roll down my throat, but it does not seem I have suffered a fatal injury.
I stagger toward the struggle on the floor, only a foot away.
The man beneath Sullen is straining to cut him, veins stark against his white skin under his short, dark sleeves. Sullen’s palm is still over his face, then Sullen lifts his knee and slams it into the man’s groin. His body jolts beneath my boy, a muffled cry of agony leaving his hidden mouth, but he lifts his upper body, bringing the shaky blade in his hand closer to Sullen’s throat, Sullen’s strength torn between crushing the man’s face and gripping his wrist.
I take another step but my body is trembling from shock or fear or confusion and I ungracefully sink to my hands and knees. It doesn’t matter. I will crawl.
I start to do just that, only inches from the man’s head of dark hair now, when Sullen’s gaze lifts to mine.
My breath catches at the emptiness of his expression.
But he doesn’t reprimand me.
Instead, he takes a breath andreleasesthe man. Drops his hold from his wrist, his hand from his face.
Immediately, this allows the man’s reach for Sullen’s throat to connect.
The blade slices along the bandana, a white strip of fabric drifting lazily to the man’s torso in slow motion, eerily at odds with the situation.
I open my mouth to scream, frustration and horror mounting like fire in my body. My arm lifts as if of its own accord toward Sullen, but before I can tell him to stop being fucking stupid, he smiles at me.
Then he grabs the blade from the man’s hand, on the sharp side.
He is wearing gloves, and I do not know if the knife cuts him, but either way, the man is surprised enough that Sullen is able to yank the weapon away.
He flips it deftly in one hand, so he’s holding it correctly, and then he arcs his arm in the air as the man attempts to get out from under Sullen straddling him. But before he can do much more than lift his torso, Sullen drives the blade downward.
It connects to the man’s stomach.
His body jolts as his hands come to the wound.
I don’t look down.
I stare at Sullen, staring at me.
He pulls the knife out.
The man is screaming, but it’s hoarse. Strange and warped.
Sullen stabs him again, through his hand this time.
My mouth goes dry as I stay on my palms and knees, my hair in my face, blood curling down my throat while I watch Sullen stab the man a third time. He does not look away from me.
And again.
