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And there it is, my gold, heart-shaped locket clasped around his neck, begging for its rightful owner to reclaim it. I study him for a few moments, ensuring he’s at least left the REM stage—his eyeballs don’t flutter behind his lids, and his breathing is long and deep. I don’t know how light of a sleeper he is, but this might be the only chance I ever get.
Leaning over his disgustingly sculpted body, I reach for the clasp with shaking fingers, unhooking the chain and sliding it from around his neck, careful not to so much as breathe in his direction.
My heart rate skyrockets, my knees wobble, and it takes every ounce of energy in my body to keep my core upright and away from him; I remove the chain from his body, and as I move to get down off the bed, a hand whips out and locks around my wrist.
I’m met by blazing green eyes, and my fist curls around my necklace, protecting it, as he drags me into his chest, his free hand digging beneath his hoodie. I open my mouth to speak, to apologize, to sayanything, but then there’s a sharp pinch at the base of my neck; my hand flies up to cradle the site of pain, and I watch as a large syringe falls onto the bed, the plunger pushed all the way down.
Chapter 10
Juliet
Existing inside a vacuum is an experience I’ve dealt with my whole life—at first, it was just a side effect of being the forgotten child, and then it became a coping mechanism.
Something I strove toward on my weekends, a way to fill the parental neglect etched into the fiber of my being. A way to alleviate the miserable hurricane constantly raging in my soul, a distraction from the overwhelming, all-consuming sadness.
Butthisis new.
Blinking my eyes open, I stare up at a blindingly white popcorn ceiling; it’s vaulted, meeting in a sharp peak at the middle, with a brass fan dangling from it, blowing cool air down on my flushed skin. My mouth feels parched and sticky, like I’ve just sucked on a wad of cotton balls that absorbed every ounce of saliva on my tongue.
I try to swallow over the dryness, but there’s no traction, nothing to move down my throat, and my muscles refuse to cooperate. There’s a dull ache flaring in my shoulder, spreading along my collarbone, and I try to reach an arm up to press on the point of pain, but nothing moves.
Like I’m submerged in Jell-O and my limbs are suspended separately from the rest of my body.
For once, I feel nothing—and that includes the cracks in my wretched heart. I’m unable to feel exactly where it’s split, feel where it bleeds out slowly with each passing day.
And even though I know it’s not real, that something bad is happening, I latch on to it.
Embrace it.
Who knew this was what not hurting felt like?
Voices play at the edge of my eardrums, muffled and indecipherable, as I flick my eyes downward, aiming them at my body. My vision blurs like bright city lights reflected in a rain puddle, harsh and sending a thick throbbing sensation through my forehead. I wince—or at least, I try to. But still, my body doesn’t react.
Under normal circumstances, panic would’ve settled in by now, seizing my ribs and squeezing until they break, but there’s an eerie, misplaced calmness settling in my gut.
Misplaced, because I know something isn’t right. I don’t recognize the room I’m in, can’t place the smell of cleanser and smoky pine, can’t muster up any fear at being completely incapable of moving, no matter how bad I will it.
Caroline’s going to kill me.
The thought floats on repeat in my head, bouncing off the walls like a rubber ball in perpetual motion, making me dizzy. A man’s voice pushes closer, and if I couldjust turn my head, I know I’d be able to see its owner. Be able to remember how the hell I got here.
He sounds far away and too close all at once, his words somehow smooth and coarse at the same time, like crushed velvet. “Oh, kitten, what have you done?” My hip dips outward, and a dark, shadowy figure leans into the corner of my sight, a handsome face I know I’ve seen before hovering above mine.
His dark brown hair curls over his forehead, and I take in his sharp, high cheekbones and the stubble lining his jaw as he watches me, eyes searing a hole in my soul—green eyes with deep purple bags beneath them and crow’s feet at the corners, showing how a wretched life ages you. How your demons take years from your life, even when you offer them your soul.
A pair of eyes that have haunted me from the first day they landed on mine.
Somehow, being this close and unable to focus on a single other sensory detail highlights his imperfections, and my gaze zeroes in on each one, trying to commit them to memory despite the metaphoric tar spewing into my heart. Tainting the emotionless void I’ve slipped into.
Whatever’s going on here, he’s behind it.
And being at his mercy doesn’t terrify me like it should.
I try to open my mouth and ask what the hell happened, what I’m doing here, but he tsks, covering my lips with his large palm. Alarm scrapes across my brain, a sharp blade slicing into my flesh, jarring in how quickly it surges in me.
Why can’t I feel his hand on me?I canseethe shadow of him holding me down, but there’s no sensation. No heaviness from his weight, no prickle of fear that heightens my arousal when he’s close to me.
Is this what being dead feels like? Am I finally burning?
