Page 89 of Ruin

His words cut deep. I had promised, vowed that I would never let my darker side harm her. But promises were meaningless against the monstrous urges that drove me. I had fought with everything I had to restrain myself, to not let my need for her turn into a deadly force.

And I failed.

I gestured for Sam to sit next to me, trying to calm him with my presence, though my own heart was pounding in my chest, suffocating me. “Is she okay?” I asked, though I dreaded the answer.

“She will be,” Sam replied, his voice trembling with a mix of relief and disgust. “She needed blood. You punctured her artery. She almost died.”

The words were like daggers. I hurt her. I had hurt her badly and beyond whatever words I could muster. She was bleeding, suffering, and I was responsible. I had stopped, but it was too late. The damage was done. The weight of my failure was a crushing force, making it hard to breathe.

“She knew the risks,” I said softly, trying to justify the unjustifiable. “We talked about it. It was a decision we were willing to make. We were hopeful, Sam. Optimistic.”

The pain in Sam’s eyes was mirrored in my own. I had hoped to be honest with her, to give her a choice. But I had not accounted for my own inability to control the monster within. I had underestimated how close I was to losing everything.

“I stopped, though,” I continued, my voice cracking with the weight of my emotions. “I did not kill her. I do not know how, but I did stop. She knew I might not be able to. We had to try.” I let out a shuddering breath, trying to compose myself, but tears betrayed me.

Sam sat in silence, his hands covering his face, processing the magnitude of the catastrophe. I could feel his rage. The only thing containing him was his fear for me. I needed to fix this, to do something to atone for what I had done.

“Sam, I need you to do something for me,” I said, my voice firm despite the turmoil inside.

Sam looked at me, a mixture of anger and reluctant compliance in his gaze. “When she wakes up,” I said, “give her the phone…and her plane ticket. Let her know she can leave if she wants to. I will not keep her here. I will not take her life for my own selfish desires.”

Sam hesitated, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Do you want anything done to the phone?”

“No,” I said firmly, my voice echoing my determination. “Just let her know she has a choice.”

“But what about you?” he asked, his expression fighting between frustration and sadness.

“There are some fates worse than death,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

With a final, heavy sigh, I saw Sam nod in reluctant agreement. I watched as he turned and left, disappearing down the stairs. Alone, I remained on the roof, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat of my shame.

As the moon disappeared and the sunrise began to peek over the hills, I felt the weight of my sorrow like a physical burden. The pain of what I had done pressed down on me, a constant reminder of my failure. As I sat there, I felt the emptiness of my actions and the loss of the one person who had dared to accept me, despite everything.

In an instant, I was gone, the shadows swallowing my presence. My departure left behind only the haunting echoes of my guilt and the sorrow of what could have been.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Claire

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the window of my hotel room, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly, reminding me of the night that had just passed. The blood and destruction from the chaos were gone, cleaned away as if they never existed, but the memories clung to me, heavier than the fresh bedding I lay beneath. I was awake, my mind racing, even though every fiber of my body ached for rest. The IV fluids Sam administered this morning dripped slowly, the only sound in the room besides the occasional rustle as I shifted uncomfortably.

“I don’t know what happened, Sam,” I began, my voice trembling with a mix of shame and confusion. “I guess I was hopeful…that he was wrong, that I could stop him.”

The words felt pathetic, even as I said them, and I couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. My stare fixed on the untouched plate of food on my tray, the lump in my throat making it impossible to eat. Sam nodded, his presence a quiet reassurance, but I could tell he didn’t have the answers I desperately sought.

“I understand,” he said patiently.

“I feel stupid,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. I was ashamed of how naive I’d been, thinking I could handle this on my own.

“I don’t really blame him…but I cannot get over how quickly everything changed. His face…how it twisted into something monstrous. He had me in the air, pressed against the door like I was nothing. I thought I was going to die, Sam. I cannot forget that. I’m covered in bruises and stitches, and every time I look at myself, I see him.”

Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. I looked to Sam, desperate for some kind of comfort, some validation that I wasn’t entirely broken. “I can’t forget that,” I repeated, my voice cracking.

Sam’s response was the same—another nod, another gentle, “I understand.”

But did he? Could he? The terror I had felt was not something I could easily put into words, and his calm demeanor felt like a stark contrast to the storm still raging inside me.

After a moment, Sam stood, breaking the silence. He reached into his medical bag and handed me a large orange envelope as his hands trembled. “I have these for you,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.