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Pain blossomed in my wrist, up my arm, but I could hardly feel it. Blood bloomed instantly, gushing out of the wound, a bright red compared to the sterile white kitchen. I dropped the knife in the sink, starting to laugh.
Gareth was in the process of racing toward me, a look of fury on his face, but I didn’t care anymore. I guess… I guess I never really cared at all. “Looks like you’ll have another mess in here to clean up before Uncle Alistair gets home. Tell my mom I hate her—”
“I’m not telling anybody shit, because you’re not dying.” He was on me after that, frantically reaching for the wrist I’d cut, but I sidestepped him.
I didn’t get far, though. I slipped on my own fucking blood. Ugh.
I couldn’t catch myself, nor did I care to. My back collided with the floor, and Gareth was quick to kneel over me and take my cut wrist in his hand, his palm putting pressure on it.
“No,” I hissed, trying to get free. “Don’t. Let me die.”
He didn’t like that. Oh, he didn’t like that at all. His other hand found my neck, squeezing tightly, about as hard as his other hand squeezed my wrist to slow the blood loss—didn’t matter too much, though, because my head was starting to feel both light and heavy at the same time. “You’re mine,” he reminded me. “I won’t let you die.”
Gareth let go of my neck to grab his phone, but I managed to smack it away with my free hand.
“You’re an idiot,” he whispered, for the first time ever sounding frantic. “You’re such a fucking idiot, Bri.” It was the first time he’d called me that. He had to crawl off me to reach his phone, and in doing so, he had to let go of my injured wrist.
Blood gushed forth, coating my arm and the floor around me, and I struggled to sit up, slipping in the mess of my own making. There was so much red. So much. Was it all from me? My head spun for a whole different reason. Did I really do this just to hurt Gareth?
Seemed a little extreme, didn’t it? A little final. A little…
My mind had some trouble coming up with a way to end that sentence, and Gareth was on me after that, grabbing me as he sat and leaned back against the lower cabinet. He pulled me between his legs, holding me there, his arm encircling me as he held onto the cut on my wrist. His hand was coated in my blood, so bright against his skin.
I think he was on the phone with someone, but it was so hard to pay attention when all I could do was stare at the red. So much blood. My breathing began to slow, and I didn’t feel like holding my head up any more, so I leaned it back against Gareth’s chest.
A calmness, a deep, unsettling serenity swept over me. My heart slowed, everything in me suddenly so cold. My eyelids shut. It was too hard to keep them open.
The last thing I heard Gareth say was, “I’m not going to let you die.”
Death. Was that what this was? It was colder than I thought it’d be, but then again, life had never been as warm as it should’ve been for me. As much as I wanted to say I had so much to live for, that I had so many different things I wanted to experience in life before I died, I was okay with it. I accepted it, welcomed it with open arms.
Death had always been my fascination, and now it would take me and add me to its sweet, dark oblivion.
What was my last thought? You were supposed to see your life flash before your eyes, see your loved ones one final time. It wasn’t like that for me. No, my last thought was…
I finally won.
