Page 57

“Fuck—Malakar, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” Her voice broke off into a sob.

I stood up, my chair scraping back with a shriek. The sound snapped through me, jagged and wrong. I wanted to go to her. I wanted to hold her, take her hand, kiss the blood away. But I couldn’t move. My arms felt nailed to my sides.

Blood dripped onto the floor, bright against the white tile. Her shoulders shook, her body curling tighter around the wound. I could see her flinch even before I made a move. My shadow fell over her, and she whimpered.

“Bluebird,” I said, my voice too quiet, too far away. “Let me see.”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t—please, I’ll clean it up, I swear, I’ll—just let me—” Her words twisted up, strangled by terror.

I crouched down, careful, slow, keeping my hands open and empty. “It’s bleeding a lot. I—I don’t have anything to patch it up with. No bandages. No first aid.” My brain was buzzing, spinning in tight circles.

She hesitated then spoke up. “We need something. I could—there’s a pharmacy in town. We could get—something for the blood, the cut, I don’t know—” She stared at me, mouth open, eyes shining with hope. I could see the cogs turning in her mind. An open door. A car. Escape.

The room spun.

I saw my father’s face. You think she doesn’t see your weakness, boy? You think she won’t leave? The first chance, she’ll run. They always do. Women are made for leaving.

My voice got thin, trembled up from the bottom of a well. “Are you… are you using this to try to leave me?” My hands shook now, badly. I tried to still them, but the tremor traveled up my arms, into my jaw. “Is that what this is, Starla? You break something, you bleed, you make me take you to town, and then you run. Just like all the others. Just like—” I broke off. I could feel the dark swallowing me whole, my head slipping into the fuzzy black waters.

She pulled her hand away, backing up, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. “No, Malakar, I’m not—I swear, I just cut myself, that’s all, I’m not trying to—please⁠—”

I heard the old whisper. The voice in the walls, curling around my skull. She’s lying. They always lie. You’re going to let her walk right out that door and she’ll never come back. You’ll be alone again. There’ll be no one left but the dark.

I could feel myself unraveling. My vision tunneled. The kitchen faded away, the light burning holes in my eyes. I tried to hold onto the table, onto something solid, but my hands were useless. My mother’s scream echoed in my skull.

The blood kept dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Starla scrambled up, cradling her hand, her eyes wide and wild. “Malakar, please—just get the keys, we can get bandages, that’s all, you can—” She caught herself, voice trembling. “You don’t have to take me. You can lock me in the car. I won’t run. I promise.”

She was lying. I could see it. She was already halfway out the door in her mind. My pulse stuttered, my skin burning with shame and need and something blacker.

I could feel it happening. The world slipping away, my thoughts unspooling, the black spots swimming across my vision. The fog rising up, choking me.

I slammed my fist on the table. The plates rattled, the silverware jumping. “WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO RUN?” I screamed, the sound tearing out of me. “WHY DO YOU MAKE ME DO THIS?”

Starla’s mouth dropped open. She backed away, stumbling into the counter, her cut hand bleeding onto the cabinet, leaving a red smear. Her whole body shook. “Please—please don’t hurt me—I just need a bandage, please, Malakar⁠—”

I could feel myself splitting. One part grounded in the room, the other rising above, watching from the ceiling, helpless, useless. I couldn’t stop shaking. My heart was a fist, pounding, ready to shatter my ribs.

I took a step toward her and tried to grab her. She ran but accidentally cornered herself. I kicked a chair out of the way and closed in on her. She screamed and grabbed the first thing she could find. A heavy mug leftover from breakfast. She swung it, wild and desperate, smashing it into the side of my head.

The world exploded in white light. Pain flared. I staggered back, clutching my skull, blood seeping between my fingers. My knees buckled, the kitchen spinning, all the colors running together.

I watched her bolt for the door, fumbling with the lock, her bloody hand leaving prints on the knob. She yanked it open, stumbled out onto the porch, into the night.

“NO!” My legs refused to move. I reached for her, clawing the air, but she was already gone. Bare feet slapping against the cold ground, dress fluttering behind her like broken wings.

She didn’t look back.

I felt the blackness closing in.

I dropped to my knees in the broken glass. I could hear my father’s voice, my mother’s singing, all the old ghosts shrieking in my skull.

You let her go. You let her go, you fucking coward.

I tried to stand, but the world kept tilting. My hands scrabbled for the table, the counter, anything. Useless. Broken.

Gone.