Page 39

And why not?

My photographic memory replays it over and over like a stuck record. Except these lyrics are distorted. Ugly.

I never thought my ability was anything but a gift, even when James died.

Not until this very moment. Now I hate it. Wish I was never born with it.

I wish I were never born.

I shake my head, which does nothing more than shuffle the nextscene into place.

Cream to match the marble tiles. Contrasting nicely with the black marble basins. I watch a drop of water cling to the tap, elongating before dripping off. The sound of it hitting the porcelain not heard over the grunting behind me.

My eyes drift back over to the cream door, wishing I hadn’t locked it. Wishing I had let Damon follow me in.

But hindsight is just that. And nothing will change this moment. Nothing.

Heknows it. Said as much.

It washisintention.

Not just to bury himself deep inside me physically but to infect me in ways that no one else could see.

Deep in my soul, where the light starts.

Already trickling out of me to become darkness. As are the tears. Both out of my control.

Everything out of my control.

Shake my head. Pick up douche. Fill with water. Gently push the bulb between my forefinger and thumb when the tip is inserted. Repeat.

Motions. Like a robot. Because I cannot feel anymore. Cannot be anymore. I am gone.

Blood pours down my inner thighs, swirling below me and disappearing down the drain.

I use up all the liquid in the small container.

It’s not enough. I feel dirty. I fear the feeling will never go away.

“You are already ready for me, but just in case.” Spit, rub, thrust.

Pain.

Was this because of what I did with Damon? Did I ask for this? Deserve this?

Hesaid I did.Hesaid that it was what I wanted.

The Reaper. An apt nickname for the thief of immaterial things. However, at this moment, I wish for the Grim Reaper instead. At least he has mercy.

Heshould have killed me. It was right there.Hecould have done it. My finger touches the side of my temple, where I can still feel the cold metal of the muzzle of his gun.

“Sienna.” Douche clatters to the floor. My heart makes itself known. It is beating uncontrollably. Surprisingly. I thought it was broken.

“Are you okay?”

No. “Yes. I will be out in a minute.” Hoarse. Painful. The doctor says my voice will return to normal in a couple of days.

His footsteps don’t go far.