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“You know, I didn’t like you one bit. Hell, I hated you….,” he pauses, choosing his following words carefully, “But I can tell you’d do anything for her, and I respect that.”

I nod at him, not moving from my seat.

“But if you don’t go take care of yourself, how the Hell will you take care of her when she wakes up?”

He cocks his head at me, waiting for an answer. I don’t have one, but he’s right. I need to shower. I need to bring her fresh clothes.

“I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t leave her alone.”

He places his hand on my shoulder, giving me a slight smile.

“Boy I took care her for 21 years. I think I can take care of her for an hour.”

I nod to him and his wife, and I take off. I need to get back before she wakes up.

I need to be the one to explain everything to her.

* * *

The shower water is ice cold. I need to feel something. Anything.

The light has been taken from my world once again. I slam my hand against the tile. I fucking failed her. I should have been with her instead of seeking revenge on my father.

He won. His death might be the only reason I lose her. Because I was fucking selfish.

I step out of the shower, looking into the mirror. I am met with cold, dead eyes. They are pitch black, drowning in fucking tar.

I don’t even fucking recognize myself right now.

I walk into the bedroom, taking my knife from my nightstand.

I stand back in front of the mirror and begin carving.

The bite from the metal feels like nothing compared to the fury inside of me. I refuse to let her go. The blood drips down onto the rug beneath me as I carve into my abdomen.

I throw the blade down into the sink, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I stare back at my reflection, still dead, but now I’m hers. I’ll forever be hers.

I step back into the shower, feeling the sting of the water on the open wound. I know when she wakes up, she will hate me. She took the pills thinking that I’m a fucking monster. She knows I killed Amara, but she doesn’t know why.

I’m not the monster she left behind. I’m the Devil still whispering her name in the dark.

I close my eyes, pressing my forehead on the cool tile. “Evelyn,” I whisper as my eyes sting with an unfamiliar feeling.

“Please come back.”

35

Evelyn

My throat burns as if I have swallowed hot coals. The beeping of machines makes my ears ring. I try to open my eyes, but I can’t; they are too heavy.

I need to go back. I need to go back to the place where everything was okay. I feel my eyes water beneath my heavy lids. I hear faint voices drowned out by the beeps ringing in my ears.

I peel my heavy lids open, and the room is out of focus. It looks like… like a hospital? What happened?

I blink slowly, trying to see something—anything.

Immediately, a figure stands before me, and it looks like him. It can’t be him. I’m still dead.You’re not dead. You’re alive. He’s real.