Page 25 of Beautiful Nightmare

What is he doing?

Kicking the leg out of the wooden record player stand, it flies off, and the records crash to the floor.

Kneeling, Prince takes the broken leg into his hand and spins around on the balls of his black dress shoes.

A renewed sense of urgency washes over me.Don’t you fucking dare!

This time Prince doesn’t respond to me.

Reaching the banister, he twirls with joy, a state I have never seen him in before, and I want to be sick. My stomach turns as I bash the door down and fall on top of it, hitting the ground.

Scrambling, I get to my feet, and I think my vision has returned, because before me is the fallen record player stand.

Wasting no time, I run to Beckham. But it’s too late. I am too fucking late.

The knife, which was once floating millimeters from penetrating his heart, is gone and it has been replaced with Prince’s hand and the wooden stake.

Prince looks over to me and winks as Beckham’s hand takes his spot.

Frantic, I think, what is he doing?

I try to get to him, but I find myself only able to run in one place.

Why is this happening?

Prince holds both hands up in the air as Beckham’s arm reaches out, still holding the sharp piece of wood at chest level.

It happens in slow motion.

Denial and disbelief wash over me.

My mate slams the stake into his own heart, and by default, my own.

Breaking it into a million unfixable pieces.

Crippled, my lifeless body collapses to my knees.

A familiar feminine voice is screeching around us. It seems so far away, like a haunting soundtrack playing while my heart breaks.

Perhaps it’s me, but I can’t tell because I am numb.

Beckham’s body crumbles down the stairs, his eyes still open, but the vivid red is now dull. His skin has gone from a beautiful, pale white with exposed, shimmery tattoos to a deathly gray.

“But I’m not done yet, sweet girl.” I hate him.

My mind tells me the only way to feel better, or to not feel at all, is to join him.

Because the only person to make me feel whole since my moms passed, was him, Beckham. My vampire boy.

Fading away, I lie here lifelessly. Until I am forced to move.

Prince.

The front door is still open, and I am tossed through it and lifted two stories to the roof. And instead of dropping me, Prince forces my legs tostraighten, but I fight him until the very end. I will not make anything easy for him. With tense muscles, my teeth grit.

Dark clouds still circle overhead, and moths flutter around my lifeless body, tickling my bare skin with their wings and antennas.

Then, all at once, they leave me, revealing my worst nightmare come to life.