Page 92 of Crushed Vow

“Let me die!” I wailed. “Let me fucking die—I am no longer a woman, don’t you get it? I’m a man—an empty thing!”

My body bucked violently in his arms, tears mixing with blood, smearing across his skin. “I’m not a woman anymore, I’mnothing! Just skin and bone and butchered parts! I’m a fucking madwoman!”

“I can’t live like this! I can’t—I can’t!” I cried hard.

He pulled me tighter, one hand on my bleeding thigh, the other around my waist, and for once I didn’t fight him—I collapsed into his arms like a ragdoll, trembling and broken, blood soaking us both.

“I’ll kill everyone who ever made you feel this way,” he whispered. “But please... don’t take yourself away from me.”

But it was too late.

Because the part of me that had once felt alive?

She had already died.

The blood was seeping down the cold tiles like a flood—like I was bleeding out all the things I couldn’t say. My body shook so hard it felt like it would crack into pieces, but still, the arms around me held on.

I let out a guttural sob. My hands were raw and sliced open from the broken glass, my thigh bleeding from shallow stabs, my side hot and wet with more.

And still—I wanted to reach the blade.

“I should have stopped them,” he said, voice hoarse, barely audible over my screams. “Those men—those fuckers—I should have shot them dead right there.”

His breath hitched. “I let my pride blind me. I thought if I didn’t move, it would prove something. But all it proved is I failed you. Again. As a man. As the one who promised to protect you.” His voice cracked, like glass under pressure.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

I couldn’t hear him.

I could only hear the phantom laughter from earlier, the words slicing through me worse than the blade.

“Another chestless bitch.”

“Bet she gets changed in the dark”

The camera flash.

The disgust in their eyes.

He scooped me into his arms. My blood smeared against his shirt as he carried me, bridal style, like I was something precious. But I wasn’t precious—I was hollow, defective, leaking pain and grief and shame.

I didn’t fight him this time.

I just let my head fall back, limp and dizzy, my throat gurgling with breath that barely sounded human.

The hallway lights above spun, then blurred, then vanished.

My fingers were so cold.

I couldn’t feel them.

Or my legs. Or anything except the dull, burning throb of flesh torn too many times in too many places.

Let me die.

Let this be the end.

Let the blood stop leaking and take me with it.