He rubs his arms and then looks at me, his eyes red and weary. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. This isn’t you. It’s not your fault.”
“Can you…can you get me some more water?”
“Of course. I’ll be right back.”
As much as I don’t want to be away from him when he needs me this much, I also can’t deny that I could use these few seconds to take a breath.
Costa is at the kitchen table when I get there. “How is he?”
I try to smile. “Tough.”
“Thank you, Stella, for everything that you’re doing. I know I’ve been an asshole.”
I nod. “You have. But it’s part of your charm.”
I wash my hands and face and then take a water bottle from the fridge. Just as I shut the door, a loud crash comes from the bedroom. Costa flies out of his chair and runs through the living room with me at his heels.
“Shit!” Costa yells, moving like lightning to Sam.
Sam is on the bedroom floor, surrounded by shards of broken mirror.
“Sam, no!” Then, Costa screams at me to get over there.
I finally make my feet move. He’s sitting on Sam, pinning his arms to the floor, and Sam is kicking and trying hard to maneuver out from under Costa.
“Let it go, Sam!”
Sam is clutching a jagged shard in his blood-soaked hand. “Fuck off!” he spits out.
Costa releases one arm just enough to slam it back onto the floor. Sam swears but doesn’t let go.
“Stella, get a pillowcase from that closet. Cut it into strips.” Costa nods at the scissors on the floor, the pair Sam wanted earlier.
I do what he asks, noticing the blood on the scissors. The blades are dull though, and cutting up the pillowcase is slow-going.
“Now, wrap up each wrist. Make ’em tight.”
It’s only then when I notice the precise slices on Sam’s wrists. The scissors must not have been sharp enough, so he broke the mirror. I guess we’re even now because I destroyed a mirror myself not that long ago. Wounds that lead to a death trip are gone upon surfacing, like Sam’s gunshot ones, but these on his wrist will take time because they have not caused his death. It’ll be an unpleasant reminder of this week. I wrap up one wrist while Costa holds him down. I’m trying to block out the fact that Sam is furious with me.
“Why are you helping him? You should be helping me! I thought you loved me!” he keeps repeating.
“I do love you, Sam. I love you so much.”
“Fuck you! You’re such a bitch!” There is venom in his voice.
Costa is angry now. “Hey! You’re the one being a little bitch. Keep your mouth shut, or you’re gonna say something else you’ll regret later.”
I move around them to get to Sam’s other wrist, and I slide the fabric under it. Before I tie it though, I’m compelled to stop and rub my thumb over his cuts. The blood doesn’t scare me now. In fact, it calls to me.
How could I have ever been repulsed by something so perfect?I wonder.It’s beautiful.
I start to get a little dizzy, a little high, as I smear the wetness onto my other fingers.
“Stella, snap out of it! Keep moving,” Costa orders.
Slowly, I look at him. Costa is so handsome, I notice. And he’s so in charge right now. When I look down again, I see my fingers on Costa’s arm, painting him with blood. The contrast against his fair skin is stunning, so artistic. I wonder what my own blood would look like on him. Plenty of sharp objects are across the floor, and I begin letting my eyes drift over the many choices.
