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She grabbed a dirty steak knife from the sink. She stared at it for a good minute, which gave me the slightest hope she was trying to talk herself out of it. That hope was snuffed out as she brought the knife up to her wrist and cut. I grabbed the post, needing something—anything—to do what, I didn’t know. I just needed something to hold onto as she put the knife to her other wrist, slicing that one as well.
She slowly glanced over her shoulder at me. The look she held was unsettling. Not peace, but overwhelming sorrow etched her face. I recognized that sorrow. I had seen it before in the mirror. I wanted to look away. Not that it would do any good. The image of her face was already seared into my brain, and I knew it would haunt me until I took my last breath.
With a weak sway of her arm, she tossed the knife to the ground. It clattered and slid across the floor toward me. She looked forward and just stood there, staring at the wall above the sink as blood spilled from her fingertips. It wasn’t long before her breathing picked up and she staggered.
I finally made myself look away as she fell to the floor. The weight in my chest made it hard to breathe to the point I had to rest my forehead on the post.
I don’t care.
I. Do. Not. Care.
Then why did the backs of my eyes burn? I closed them, focusing on just trying to breathe. The need to fall apart felt like it was being held back by a thin dark thread.
“Damnit!” I growled as I pushed my forehead against the metal post until it hurt.
Everything was fucked.
A broken, guttural noise escaped me as I sank back to the floor to my knees, my forehead sliding down the post as I did. My eyelashes turned wet from the tears I wouldn’t let fall.
“Pull yourself together, Maura,” I said out loud. I couldn’t feel this right now.
I took in deep breaths through my nose and exhaled them loudly through pursed lips as I tried to regain myself. When I had a little bit of control back, I used my sleeve to wipe my wet eyes before I opened them. I didn’t want to look at her, yet my gaze drifted in that direction. Before I could look at her, I saw the knife. Its blade was dirty with old food and fresh blood.
I could reach it.
Did Amelia do that on purpose?I crawled for it until my chain went taut and scooped it up.
The baby chose to start crying loudly at that moment. He was probably still hungry. Amelia hadn’t finished feeding him.
Fisting the knife’s grip in my hand, I let myself look at her. Blood was spreading around her on the floor, her skin was pale, and her ice-blue eyes were empty. A part of me wanted to roar at her for her selfishness, for what she’d left behind. The other part, the one that understood pain that was too much to bear, hoped she found peace.
* * *
I didn’t know how long I’d stared at Amelia’s body, but in that time, this calm determination had slithered inside me, coiling around the emotions that threatened to cripple me, making it easier for my darker half to fully take over. I’d forgotten how good it felt to be fully relinquished to my darkness. Months ago, when I had been lying in a hospital bed completely consumed by despair, it had been my darkness that had pulled me to my feet. But, unlike all the times before, the darkness in me hadn’t been able to shield me from everything that I had been feeling. Instead, it had helped me harness my rage and done its best to push back some of my pain to keep me moving. Since then, I hadn’t let my darkness go, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to.
It was time to end this—to bring an end to Buck and the Aryans.And I was ready.
When I heard the front door unlocking, I quickly lay my head to the side and pulled some of my hair over my face. I was already lying on my back, which at first had been agonizing. Putting any pressure on it plus the rough carpet rubbing sightly against me had been enough to make my shirt, which had been somewhat dry, feel wet again. Not that any of that mattered—the pain or the bleeding. What mattered was what was about to happen, right now.
As the door opened, I held my breath. I only heard one set of footsteps vibrate through the floor. At the same time the door closed behind whoever was back, they let out a curse. I listened as they rushed toward the kitchen, then stopped.
“Fuck!” they said in a panic, and I knew then that it was the lackey and not Buck. I was slightly surprised by the emotion in his voice. To be honest, I expected indifference, especially the way he’d just stood to the side and watched Buck rape her yesterday.
He let out a strangled growl before I heard him move again. This time toward me. His steps had turned into heavy stomps.
“Wake up, bitch!” he snarled.
I kept myself relaxed. I knew he was going to kick me. I was prepared to take it.
“Hey!” he said before the toe of his boot rammed into my hip.
I didn’t react and let my body move naturally at being kicked. The only thing I didn’t let move much was my arm that was draped over my stomach. Hidden beneath my hand and inner arm was the knife.
The Aryan let out another curse and I felt him get closer. His fingers went to my neck, searching for a pulse. The moment he found it, my hand wrapped around the knife and my eyes snapped open. He was down on one knee, leaning over me.
Surprised that I was alive, his eyes darted to the one I had visible through my hair. It was the perfect moment of distraction. With my free hand I grabbed the hand he had at my neck and struck fast with my other. Before he knew what was happening, the knife sank deep into the side of his neck.
He started to let out a choking noise. I twisted the blade to cut it off. He didn’t fight back. Instead, he went still and stared down at me with wide eyes.
