Page 143 of Bound By Fury

Deep purple like a bruise beneath my eyes, and cracks in the corners of my lips. My shoulders curl in, my hair is frizzy around the edges, the skin at my part is flaked and itchy. Absently I remember the bath and jump, rushing to turn the faucet off. Steam clouds the room, and I pant against it, too hot to breathe, not hot enough to burn away the memories of the last few months.

Lowering myself into the scalding water, I rest my head against the tub. Everyone says the pain of grief gets better with time, but time has been passing, and it’s only gotten worse. When I close my eyes, everything that’s happened unravels before me.

The memorial service. Maureen’s mournful speech. Malachi’s hate-filled eyes. I hold my breath.

The dream. The brochure.

I unlock my knees.

Campus. Meeting Daisy and Sam. Lucas.

My chin touches the still-too-warm water.

Invocation Night. The forest. Fiona. The hedge maze. My mouth closes as my lips dip below the surface.

Kai. Always Kai. Everywhere I turn.

I let my entire head sink below the water now, my hair floating around me like Medusa’s snakes.

Maureen. Zodiac Witch. Blood everywhere.

Releasing the air from my lungs in giant bubbles, I wait, a sharp burn tugging as my chest grows tight. I resist its pull. My heartbeat groans in my ears as I force myself to stay underwater.

Gigi is dead.

Maureen is dead.

And neither of them have to deal with this anymore.

All I want is to go back to before. But I can’t.

Maybe it’s not worth the fight.

Behind my eyelids, stars burst like fireworks.

A crashing sound reverberates through the porcelain and into my ears. I sit up with enough force to splash half the water out of the tub and onto the floor, gulping in a breath that sears the inside of my lungs. I cough and grasp my chest in panic.

They found me.

Malachi’s trembling lips against mine. His final warning.

I thought leaving was supposed to be the thing that saves me.

I claw at the side of the tub, scrambling out of it. The second my soaking wet feet touch the parquet floor, they slip, and I fall, my face cracking against the corner of the marbled pedestal sink.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I hiss, touching the tender spot above my right eye. A rivulet of blood trickles down my face, the edges of the wound puckering as it swells. The pain doesn’t matter.

I brace my hands against the lip of the sink and pull, heaving myself up before gathering my discarded clothes in one hand and putting pressure on my face with the other.

I need to think. I need to think. I need to think. What am I supposed to do? Are they here to finally kill me? I throw on a pair of flannel pajama pants and an oversized hoodie. I strain my ears, listening to the groans of the house. For footsteps. For cloaks sweeping across the floor.

Silence.

The stairs creak as I creep down them, toes curled over their edges. In the living room my shaking hands precede me as I cross into the kitchen. The dining room. The laundry room. The office.

I don’t find anyone. Still, tension stiffens my shoulders as I check all the locks on the doors and windows.

When I’m sure no one is downstairs, I climb back up, my eyes sore from forcing away my tears.