Page 89 of Hearts Held

“Everett,” she calmly states as I finish the third filleting of Michael’s flesh.

I’m heaving, trying to exhale the malice from within with each crazed breath, but I can’t stop.

It clings to me like an adder’s fangs cling to their prey.

Michael passes out from shock, pain or just from being a fucking pussy—I don’t care.

“Everett, please stop,” she softly begs from beside me. Those words halt my actions.

Silence falls around us as I close my eyes, nostrils flaring as I try to calm myself.

I look up to see her beautiful face, beaten and bruised.

Then violence floods my veins again, but before I may lunge at Michael’s limp body, she grasps my forearm.

“No,” she orders.

My chest rises and falls like a wild animal’s as I stare into her eyes, trying to find comfort in the fact that sheishere. She is here with me and not fallen into the dark abyss of death, unlike Tilly.

My heart aches for Bobby, knowing how much he loved her.

How much he sought a future with her.

Clearing my throat, I yell for all to hear, “By order of the Afton Adders, I declare war on Sabini’s men. Hunt them from Lockham. Cease trade. Make each of them an example. Show them no mercy as they showed our girls none.”

Chapter 30: Bobby

Last Resort (Reimagined), Falling in Reverse

Ups and downs.

Ups and downs.

That’s life, right?

Ups and fucking downs.

Well, I’m sick of the fucking downs.

I’m drowning.

Lying in the middle of my flat, I ignore the smell of putrid trash, spoiled food and whatever else I’ve left in disarray since my Tilly was taken from me. The high is slowly spiraling down as I keep my arms raised before me, swaying my hands to thetreacherous Beethoven music.

The only things I feel nowadays is chaos, sadness and then fury. Picking the needle up off my most recent “friend.” I use their company to silence the bubbling anguish inside.

Self-destruction is my new coping mechanism, and I don’t plan to stop.

And if someone tries to stop me, I’ll rip their fucking face off.

My sun was taken from me.

So what does one do when their sun goes? They wither. They rot.

Their world dies.

I’ve tried putting a gun to my temple or in my mouth, but as soon as I want to pull the trigger, a fucking drug-induced hallucination will bite me in the ass.

It’s quite comical. I get a fucking phone call from my dead fiancée. Like her soul is still here haunting me, stopping me from meeting her in the great beyond.