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“He has to die,” I croak out, my lips wobbling with uncontrollable tears.
“I’ll do it, Blaire,” Charlie says, but I tell him no.
I try to crouch down to my master, to put us eye to eye, but I buckle at the knees. Charlie doesn’t let me fall. He controls my equilibrium, gripping my shoulders tightly in his hands and carefully helps me to my knees.
Maksim is coughing up blood, straining to stop himself.
“Blaire,” he chokes, reaching out for my hand with cold fingers, “you can stop this. You can save me.” Holding my hand, he pleads physically, squeezing me. “Don't let him kill me,” he says under his breath in Russian so only I can hear him.
“Why not?” I search his eyes, blinking a few times to clear the white film in my vision. “There is nothing for you anymore.”
“I won't go to hell yet!” he yells with all the power his body will allow, hunching over on his side in pain to cough up some more. He pulls me with him and I moan at the pain of my back being stretched out, but then Charlie snatches my hand out of Maksim’s.
“I cannot go to hell yet,” Maksim’s voice softens as he says that, and I think he's crying. “I am not ready, my little pet.”
I blink tears of sadness and rage, knowing I've failed to do the only thing I've ever known—keep him safe from anything and everything in the world.
I lean over to say in his ear, wincing in agony, “Hell is ready for you.” And putting the gun to his temple, I squeeze the trigger and blow him away with a thunderous*BANG*.
My body doesn't react to the sound, and I don’t move away from him.
I'm not sure if I shut my eyes, but the world goes black and I feel a strange sense of weight being lifted off my shoulders, like his soul is leaving me.
We're safe now. James and me. Nothing can hurt us anymore.
“I'll see you again someday,” I say under my breath, so only Maksim can hear me, “I’m sure.”
35
I can't recall a time I felt like this, so... neither empty nor fulfilled. Somewhere in the middle.
Must be the drugs that doctor just gave me, keeping me in a hazy state of limbo, but still, I can't deny there is this strange emotion lingering within me, something I've not experienced before. I've just slaughtered my master and all I want to do is get up from the hospital bed I'm lying on and walk out that door right there in front of me, escape the captivity of this tiny room and this horrid clinical scent of the hospital. I'm not sure where I want to go. Perhaps I want to stand under the rain and smile while the moon glows on my face, because it is raining outside, I imagine washing away Maksim's blood from Rumo's driveway.
I can’t leave though because I’m sick with infection, lying on my side with cushions propped against my back, keeping me in this position. My right upper arm is wrapped up in a tight blood pressure reader and there’s a plastic clip attached to my index finger, reading my pulse. A long, droning beeping near my ear.
Beep...Beep...Beep...
“I want a full medical report while she's unconscious,” Charlie says from outside the door open to ajar, dragging my attention, “internal and external examination, swabs and blood tests, the lot. Don't leave an inch of that girl unchecked.”
“Do you suspect she's been attacked sexually, Mr. Decena?”
“Oh, I don't suspect,” Charlie's voice is harsh with rage, carrying over the noise of the waiting room, “I know-”
Of course he knows. Maksim must have confessed what he did to me when Charlie was punching his lights out.
“-And while you're removing that burn from her back, be fucking delicate or we're gonna have a problem. I've seen the way some of you surgeons handle your patient's.”
“We will be extra delicate, Mr. Decena. I've called in the best surgeons to assist your girlfriend so once we get her blood pressure under control, we’ll take her down for surgery. You have my word she will be handled with the best care.”
I sigh, glad it’ll all be over soon, my every sense buzzing with this strange relaxed sensation. The doctor has given me far too much pain relief because I can't really feel anything. There is no pain. I'm not disappointed by my actions and I'm not relieved either. I'm just... hazy.
The door creaks open fully and Charlie wanders in to stand at my side, the force of his presence dominating the small room. The balding doctor follows in, scribbling something down on a pad in his hands. He is dressed in a long white coat, a stethoscope hanging around his neck. Dr. Shyam he said his name was. It's fitting. He's Indian with light chocolate brown skin and matching brown kind eyes.
Weakly lifting my head off the pillow, I look up at Charlie. His arms are crossed over his chest and even though he looks lethally evil in his pose, he smiles at me with a mixture of guilt and pure affection. “You all right, baby?”
The muse of my affections, he is. His tan is darker against the pale green room we're in, and his unruly hair looks death black under the lights. He's still painted in Maksim's blood, specks marrying his skin under those striking blue eyes. It was the first thing the receptionist noticed when he carried me into the hospital not an hour ago, the blood. But then she saw me in his arms, covered in my own blood and on the verge of death by infection and pain.
“I think so,” I say to answer Charlie's question, “though I do feel a bit... unclear.”
