Page 144 of Dead Pretty

The cat looks at me for a second longer, and then with a swish of its tail, it walks into the kitchen.

I watch it for a moment longer until it disappears behind the counter.

Then, I take the knife from my waistband and curl my hand around the handle.

Gritting my teeth, jaw clenched, I press the blade to my skin, and I start cutting.

A slash on my arm. One on my thigh.

I never got to feel this the night I cut Audrey … because it was me doing it to her.

But now, I can feel it, and it feels … amazing. Almost … cathartic.

Like a release I didn’t know I needed.

I do know though that the cuts aren’t going to be enough to sell this.

I need to do more.

With a hard swallow, I grip the knife handle with both hands. I press the blade to my stomach. I shut my eyes.

And plunge it into my stomach.

“Fuuuccck,” I cry quietly through gritted teeth.

Water runs out from the corners of my eyes.

The knife clatters to the floor.

I press a hand to the wound and stare down at it.

Blood seeps between my fingers, turning my skin red. The hands … body that I share with my sister.

And it’s … incredible.

The pain … the blood … my blood … her blood … it’s exhilarating to feel and see.

I don’t want the feeling to end.

But I know it has to.

Still, I allow myself a few seconds of enjoyment that I didn’t know existed until this very moment … before the show begins.

Then, I breathe in deeply, open my mouth, and start screaming.

Audrey

Eight Months Later

The bar buzzes with people all around me, people who have come in here for a drink after work, just like I’ve done.

The only difference is, they’re in groups and couples.

And I’m alone, sitting with my back to them all, at a table by the window.

There was a time not so long ago when I wouldn’t sit with my back to a room full of people.

But I’ve realized that it doesn’t matter which way you’re facing.