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She took another gulp of the half-empty bottle of vodka, pushing away the question. The room spun as she swayed forward. Blondie and Callie had moved to the bed, pleasuring each other. Callie crooked her finger to Emma.
Stumbling forward, Emma placed one leaden foot in front of the other. Everything inside her screamed for her not to do it. The music blared from the built-in speakers in the penthouse. The two women stared at her, no doubt waiting to bring her multiple orgasms. She’d just played their best show ever. And she felt . . . nothing. Nothing but pain. Nothing but a squeezing pressure on her body, slowly suffocating her. Her grey existence had turned into black despair. Darkness crawled beneath her skin, spreading out in inky despair, leaching the life from her, clawing her wide open and exposing the oily black sludge she’d buried deep within.
No. She shook her head, running into the bathroom and stumbling into the sink. The vodka bottle crashed onto the marble floor. She closed the door, locking it before she slid to the ground. Crimson droplets of blood ran down her arm. But she couldn’t feel it. Emma tore off her leather cuff and picked up a shard of glass as she gulped in a breath. She couldn’t feel anything anymore but the sinking sense of being pulled under.
Placing the broken bottle against her arm, she didn’t hesitate. She sliced into her flesh. Nothing. Again, but this time deeper. Just a hint of a burn reached her senses but no rush.
She screamed, her tears bursting through the dam. All the years of pain and hurt, every emotion she’d stuffed down exploded to the surface like a volcano erupting and sending searing hot agony bursting from her.
Her mother walking away, leaving her.
Her father abandoning her before she was even born.
Solomon, the man who she’d thought had loved her like a daughter, storing those adoption papers for her to find someday.
Maybe it was better he hadn’t left a note for her. What if he confirmed she’d disappointed him? Hot tears poured down her cheeks like an ocean of regret. Link’s face flashed in her mind. The anger, the disgust at what they’d done. Why was she so unlovable? I hate me too.
It was too much. She needed to get control of the pain. Her arm rose and fell. She slashed it before switching to the other arm. Digging for the relief buried deep within her wrists. But the euphoric feeling didn’t come. Her arms throbbed—pain without the relief. She looked down and gasped. They were both sticky with warm, red blood dripping, a stark contrast to the white marble. Her head pounded, growing fuzzy. The room spun. She was so tired—exhausted from years of pretending she was okay.
She lay down. The cold floor sunk into her skin. A chill settled deep into her bones.
The man over the speakers was begging agony to let him go as he suffered ever so slowly. It was like he knew this feeling—this utter exhaustion from just simply having to breathe. She needed one moment where she was free. Like how Link had made her feel the last time they were here.
Emma sobbed harder. Saltwater melded with blood. There was so much of it. She should care. She should do something. Go get help. But why? What was the point when she’d have to feel all this hurt again? Everyone was better off without her.
She’d cut to feel, to grasp a thread of control over the emotional pain, trading it for physical. Instead, she was left numb and cold. Darkness clouded her vision. Nausea rolled in her stomach. Panic jolted through her. She didn’t want to die alone. Didn’t want this to be the end. But she was so tired. The door was so far away. She’d exchanged her grey existence for the darkness after all—those black tentacles dragging her below the surface. She’d lost the fight within.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Sorry for not being enough. Sorry for being born.
She closed her eyes, taking one last ragged breath before surrendering to the darkness as it overpowered her, burying her in frigid, lonely hopelessness.
37
Link
Link had to call Nicky’s direct line and wait to get approval to be escorted to the penthouse suite. Music throbbed through the elevator before the doors even opened. He gave a nod to the bellhop and walked through the hallway to the room he and Emma had shared all those weeks ago. The room smelled like sex and pot. Barely clothed women danced on furniture. One couple was having sex on one of the couches, while others hunched over the glass table he’d taken Emma on, snorting thin white lines.
Jesus Christ. Where is Emma? His gaze snagged on Nicky’s. He was smoking a blunt while a woman was giving him a lap dance.
“Where is she?” Link shouted over the music.
Nicky’s bloodshot eyes met his, hazy and unfocused. Nicky patted the woman’s hip, urging her to move off him before he stood, setting his oversized joint in a vase turned ashtray. “Look, she’s had a rough day, and I don’t want to add to that. The only reason I’m letting you in here is because you said you were gonna make things right with our princess.”
Link couldn’t help the jealousy that boiled in his gut, curling up his limbs. His chest puffed out. “Where is she?” he repeated.
Nicky’s eyes scanned the room. “I saw her walk off with Callie. Maybe you’d better wait here.” He headed towards one of the bedroom doors.
“No fucking way,” Link growled, keeping to his side. Was she with someone else already?
“I mean it, man. Maybe you’d better stay here.” Nicky lifted his hand.
“Just open the fucking door!” Link shouted.
Nicky twisted the knob, and Link’s breath clogged in his throat. A dark-haired naked woman lay over another, kissing her. Link’s body locked up, pain and regret knocking a hole in his chest.
“Where’s Emma?” Nicky asked.
Was he so high he was blind?
