Page 54 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Pailtyn

I ’m hiding in the bathroom, trying to hard not to cry, and yet the tears are falling anyway. I’m praying that the tiny bit of wood that separates us is somehow enough to keep this monster out.

I didn’t mean to turn into that, to become that, to become that fucked up, irrational thing. I just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take the fact that I was in the same room as him, that I was here, essentially locked in with the man who stole my eyes.

When my husband told me he was going away, I stupidly thought I might have a few precious days of silence, of reprieve. God, how stupid was I?

He seems more intent now to torture every minute of my existence, whether he is around to witness it or not.

I palm my face, and all I can think about is that moment, that horrific point when I had the blade against his skin. He didn’t seem scared. He didn’t even seem concerned. No, I bet his eyes fucking gleamed, sparkled more, like the devil part of him realised how close he is to returning home.

God, I’m an idiot. A stupid, stupid idiot.

He’s going to make me pay for that. He’s going to make me bleed again. He’s…My rambled thoughts seem to falter as I realise the blade is still so tight in my left hand.

I sink to the floor, feeling those cold tiles against my exposed legs, but for once, the feeling is comforting.

There’s an idea steadily growing in my head, one that has probably been here for a while and yet, I’ve never dared let it truly form. But now, now is the moment. Now, is the only chance I think I’ll get.

My finger gingerly traces the sharp edge and with very little pressure it slices the pad in two. Maybe I’m high, maybe I’ve lost my mind, but the pain I expected isn’t nearly as nasty as it should be.

I could do it.

I could use this knife, use this gift, and end all of this. End my suffering, end my shame, my abuse, everything.

It would be a fine thing to do, a nice little fuck you. Gunther isn’t here to even try to stop me, and Devin, well, I’ve no doubt he’ll finally get some recompense for all the shit he’s caused.

I could practically laugh at the idea of it, of fucking him over in such a beautiful and final way.

My fingertips pick at the handle. It’s not the fanciest of daggers. There’s some sort of fabric wrapped around it, taped around it, that’s fraying where the elastic is giving way.

I draw out a long, low breath.

Is doing this really the answer? In my head, I’d imagined my victory being one I could actually witness. I’d dreamt of Gunther going truly insane. Of him being locked away in an asylum, or even better, being done in by all those conspirators I heard him and Guthrie talking about.

But what victory is there when I don’t have my sight? What victory can I have when I’ve been irreparably damaged?

Taking this route won’t give me true vengeance. Taking this route will mean I’ll always be regarded as unrighteous.

But does it matter? Does it matter what anyone else thinks? None of them have had to endure anything like the horrors I have. None of them have even come close to the suffering I’ve lived through, month after month after month.

No, this is a good option. A smart option. I don’t want to die and yet I can’t live like this, I can’t exist like this. Not anymore. I’m too exhausted. I’m too broken to continue.

And doing this takes the power from them, this, for the first time in my entire life, puts me in charge.

A silent tear streaks down my cheek as the gravity of this hits me.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die here, today.

But in some ways, this won’t be my death, this will be my rebirth, my freedom.

If I’m lucky there will be a life after this, and if God has witnessed all my suffering then perhaps he will even forgive this offence, forgive this trespass and let me enter paradise.

I shudder, trying not to think about the alternative. About hell. About being condemned to damnation for all eternity. But then – it’s can’t be any worse than what I’ve experienced to date. It can’t be.

I chew my lip, raising the blade and before I can deliberate anymore, I find the spot I’m after.

The metal feels cold, unforgiving and so very sharp as I press it against the softness of my wrist. I drag it down quickly, drag it from where my palm meets my wrist, till it’s halfway towards my elbow.

Jesus, it hurts. It hurts more than I’d imagined.

I gasp out, before burying my mouth into my shoulder, anxious to keep the noise down so I won’t give away what I’m up to.

Hot blood immediately starts pours out, it flows so quickly, splattering onto my thighs, no doubt cascading all onto those pretty tiles too, spreading rapidly around me.

I take the blade in my now weak hand make the same movement, telling myself that one last bit of strength, one last bit of bravery is all I need. It’s both easier and harder the second time around.

My heart slams into my chest. My body trembles and I let myself slump back, let myself relax now.

I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to bleed out. How long I will sit here, feeling my life slowly slip away, feeling as my blood pours out, as it covers the floor, as it covers me.

I just hope I have the time. I hope I can do this.

It feels almost peaceful. It feels almost healing now. My heart seems to falter, seems to slow, as if it knows this is the end, this is the point of no return and it too is happy for it.

I let out a low sigh, wishing I could be in the garden one last time, that I could smell the sea – I always wanted to. I begged so many times, and my mother never took me. I guess that’s another regret, another thing I’ll never experience.

My head feels dizzy. My thoughts start to spiral more.

I feel like I’m caught between reality and a dream.

I feel like I’m dancing once more, spinning, twirling, only it’s not Gunther who catches me, it’s someone else.

Someone loving. Someone caring. Someone who will take me away now, who will scoop me up and tell it’s alright.

That they have me, that I’m safe now and no one can ever hurt me again.

They’ll brush away my tears, soothe that fear in my bones and carry me to safety. Carry me to peace.

Why didn’t I get that? Why didn’t I deserve that?

More tears start to fall as a bitterness sets in.

I didn’t deserve this life. I didn’t deserve this pain and this suffering and any of it. I deserved to be cared for, I deserved to be loved.

Loved – the word catches in my throat, it makes my almost wail as it hits me I’ll never have that either. Never know that. It’s the one thing I would have sold my soul for, the one thing I wanted more than anything, and yet, that too has eluded me. That too has escaped me.

A wave of something washes over me. It feels cold, so very cold. I try to lift my hands to rub my arms but their too heavy and they fall back limp against my sides.

Darkness is creeping in. Darkness is coming for me.

I smile, feeling like it’s welcoming me home, welcoming me back.

And then everything just… stops.