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I didn’t plan on this day bringing us here, but at this point, it was what it was.
“Brianna,” Gareth’s voice came out low, dark and menacing, the exact kind of voice you’d expect from a goddamned serial killer… and a hot one, at that. “This isn’t funny.” He leaned forward on his left foot, the foot poised to bring him closer to me, but he stopped putting weight on it when he saw my fingers curl around the knife’s handle, firm.
He couldn’t make it to me in time. He’d have to sprint toward me, but all I’d have to do was bring the knife to the tender skin on my wrist and cut deep. One slash. That’s all. Cut deep enough, and I’d bleed out soon enough.
And then he wouldn’t have his newest toy.
Gareth knew it too, because he switched tactics, “You wouldn’t.”
“You’re so sure about that, aren’t you? Gareth, give me some credit. I think we both know I’m not bluffing.” I sounded calm as ever, but my heart beat frantically in my chest. It was a good thing he wasn’t close enough to feel the rapid beating of my heart. He’d get the wrong idea.
It didn’t beat fast because I was nervous. No. My heart beat with such a wild pace because Iwasn’tnervous, but I knew I should be.
In a weird way, I was resigned. At the end of the day, I was the reason I was here, not Alistair, not Gareth, and definitely not my mom. My whole life I’d faced the fact that no one would shed a tear for me if I was gone.
“Wake Erin up, Gareth, or I will do it.” I lifted my hand, turning my palm upward, and I brought the sharp edge of the knife to that wrist, setting it against the skin.
My whole life, death had been my only company. Death and art. I never shied away from the ugly and the grotesque. Dissection week was the most enjoyable week of biology, if you asked me. My art was an outlet, a way for me to keep myself busy—because if I wasn’t busy, then certain dark thoughts filled my head.
What it would be like to hurt someone else. What it’d be like to hurt myself.
Guess I’d find out soon enough.
Gareth said nothing, staring at me from across the kitchen, his hands flexing into fists. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind he wanted to rush over to me, knock the knife out of my hand, and make me regret ever threatening to do something so rash, so permanent.
I pressed down just enough to nick the skin on my wrist. Not above that precious vein, just to draw some blood. Adrenaline pumped so hard in my body I couldn’t even feel it, but I saw the blood ooze out of the small cut, falling off my wrist and onto the island counter before me. Gareth couldn’t call my bluff, because I wasn’t bluffing.
“All right,” Gareth hissed the words out, practically scowling at me. “I’ll go wake her up. I’ll tell her she hit her head and that she should go home and get checked out. Will that make you happy, Brianna?”
That was my deepest, darkest secret, I think. I was never happy.
“Stop talking and go do it,” I told him, ready to cut myself more.
Gareth sent me one last look—a look that told me I’d made the one move he wasn’t expecting, and he was pissed about it—but he turned and walked away all the same. I watched him go, my heart still beating fast, even when he was out of sight.
I wouldn’t breathe easy until Erin was gone, and maybe not even then.
I didn’t know how long it took for the sound of footsteps in the hall adjacent to the kitchen to appear, but when I heard Erin’s confused voice, I lowered the knife and my bleeding wrist, hiding them both behind the island counter in case they happened to walk into the kitchen.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened. I’ve never passed out before.” Erin’s voice came off a bit hazy, like her head was muddled and she couldn’t quite think straight.
“It’s okay. You should get yourself checked out.” Gareth spoke loudly, only for my benefit, I’d bet. “We can do this another time.” He sounded too polite, and that was the signal to me that he wouldn’t try doing this again, not when he knew I was willing to go this far to put him in his place.
Alistair thought I could keep him in line? I hated this. I hated it so much. I hated the fact that Gareth wanted me so badly, hated that I could get him to do what I wanted only by threatening to kill myself.
Soon after that, I heard the telltale sound of the front door opening and shutting, and a minute later, Gareth appeared under the archway to the kitchen, glaring at me. “She’s gone,” he said, his lips tugging into a frown. “Happy now? Put the knife down and come to me.”
A bark of a laugh came from me, startling us both. I lifted the knife and my wrist, my gaze flicking down to the blood oozing from the tiny cut. “You are right, you know. There is nothing more beautiful than blood.”
Gareth took a single step toward me, outstretching an arm even though he was still a good twenty feet away. “Brianna, don’t.”
“And why not? Maybe I have no interest in living in this madhouse with you and your uncle. Maybe I’m finally sick and tired of trying to be someone I’m not.” I breathed hard, lifting the knife to my wrist one more time. “Or maybe I just want to hurt you the only way I can: by taking away your newest toy.”
Gareth let out a loud, ragged breath that was more a growl than anything else, practically baring his teeth at me.
He’d rip me apart if he could, but I wasn’t going to let him.
“Congratulations, Gareth. You succeeded in destroying me.” And then, before I could think better of it, the pettiness in me took over, making me drag the knife across my wrist in one hard movement.
