What made someone live and breathe? The brain, the heart, the lungs, all the other organs working properly, the blood pumping through the veins. If he could remove one thing and make all of it collapse… In a human, it was easy. He was no human, and wherever he cut, his body would heal.
Rune stabbed himself in the throat more out of frustration than anything. Pain shot through his nerves, hot blood sprayed onto the floor. He stabbed through his chest – once, twice, five times. His shirt became soaked, he doubled over in agony, clenching his jaw and driving the knife through his gut. He sunk it in his left side, pulled straight across, and was disappointed to find that before his insides could spill out, the skin and muscle knit back together.
He let out a roar. Stabbed again and again. He was sitting in a pool of his own blood while remaining infuriatingly intact.
The door flew open and Briar’s mother rushed in. She was by his side in seconds, kneeling in the mess he’d made, prying the knife from his shaking fingers. He heard it clatter when she threw it away.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I’m trying… I’m trying…” He slammed his fist into his temple.
She caught his wrist, and he let her lower his arm, afraid that if he struggled, he might hurt her. It was so easy to break other people, impossible to break himself. She pulled him toward her, pressing his head to her chest. He could’ve pushed her away. This was too much, too close. He didn’t.
She started rocking gently, her hand brushing through his hair. She hummed a lullaby, lips pressed together, and Rune could feel the vibrations of the song pass from her to him. He knew it.
“Sleep, little one, sleep,
Count your bones from head to feet,
All arranged so small and neat,
Close your eyes, your rest be sweet.”
Seraphina had sung it in prison.
He hummed too, adding his low baritone to her softer tone. They hummed together until Rune didn’t feel as wretched and lost, until her warmth seeped into him, her sweet scent permeated his skin, and his wounds all closed.
He didn’t know when his humming turned into words, into a full confession that poured out of him as Sister Margaret listened. He told her everything he knew about himself, everything he’d done.
Dawn found them on the floor, Rune sleeping soundly, Sister Margaret reading the ledger.
Chapter Eighteen
They woke up as two people who’d known each other since forever.
Briar smelled blood as she approached her mother’s house. It was faint, carried on the wind. She saw the windows were open wide, and she increased her pace while her heart increased its beating. She threw the front door open, and it crashed into her – copper, so intense that she could taste it in the back of her throat. The door to the bedroom was open, and through it she saw her mother on her knees, wiping the floor with a rag and wringing it out in a bucket filled with red water.
“What happened?”
She crossed the front room in long strides. Her mother raised her hand to stop her before she stepped into a puddle of thick, congealed blood. A few feet away, Rune froze in the process of stripping the sheets off the bed. He was shirtless, unharmed, but covered in dry blood from head to toe.
“What did you do?” Briar’s voice rose significantly.
“I–”
“Do not. Say. You’re sorry.”
He hung his head.
Her heart hammered so hard that she thought she’d faint. The blood that drenched the floor and was practically sprayed on the walls didn’t help. She pressed a hand to her stomach and breathed through her mouth.
Her mother dropped the rag in the bucket, rose to her feet, and took the sheets from Rune. She took the bucket and the sheets, and walked out, leaving them alone.
“I was stupid,” he said.
“Did you try to–” she stopped herself, rolling her lips. “Again? Why?”
“I don’t want to be your cross to bear,” he said.
“What?”
