Page 47

I dig my fingers into my eye sockets, trying to claw away the sight that threatens to consume me. But when I finally open my eyes, the terror I dread is undeniable—my worst nightmare, alive and breathing before me.

I’m drowning in a sea of death, its icy fingers reaching out to grasp my soul. After witnessing so much of it, I can’t help but feel its presence spreading and tightening its grip through my being. My head buzzes with a million thoughts, each one hammering against my skull. Voices swirl together, some more desperate than others.

“I don’t want to do it! Don’t make me do it, please!”

The voice is sharp and youthful—uncomfortably so. Then, he bursts from the shadows, a bloody figure of a boy stumbling toward me. I see the horror etched onto his face—the absence of eyes, replaced by ghastly white orbs rimmed in red.

He’s living my dream. I’ve always wanted to tear my eyes out, to escape the death my father forced me to witness.

His mouth is sewn shut, just as I once dreaded. I annoyed my dad with my begging and pleading, and he threatened to silence me for good.

The boy rushes past me, and I turn to watch him disappear for good. He tries to run faster, but something holds him back, as if he’s uncomfortable in his shoes. I look down at his feet and realize he’s wearing my sneakers.

“I’ll ruin your shoes.”

Venetia’s voice drifts into my ears from all sides, instantly dissolving the terrifying image of the boy. It doesn’t take long for her presence to fill my mind.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Not those words again. Desperate, I keep slapping my head with my hands, hoping to banish the thoughts, but it only brings more confusion. The feeling of wetness on my arms makes me stop. When I look down, blood seeps from my skin, as though I’ve carved myself open. My vision blurs as the red trail slides down my face.

I can’t allow myself to cry. Dad will kill me if he sees me like this. He’ll call me a rag.

But when the liquid drips onto my lips and I taste it, I realize it’s not tears. It’s blood.

I’m crying blood.

Fuck. This isn’t good.

Not good, not good, not good.

I can’t understand what the fuck is happening. Blood seeps from every inch of my body, even from my ears. It muffles my hearing, blurs my vision, and in an instant, my knees buckle. I collapse, coughing up splashes of red along with meaty chunks. A heavy lump presses against my throat, and I gasp for air in a frantic attempt to breathe, only to suck in more thick, heavy blood.

Slowly, with every fiber of my being, I feel life draining from my limp body. Agony engulfs me, crescendoing into something far more intense. It feels like I’m being thrown into a blender, someone determined to crush every single bone in my body.

It feels like too much.

The faint ringing fills my ears, the final minute of torture stretching on, and on, and on, and on.

Until it finally ends.

A gentle voice cuts through my horror, jolting me awake as I fill my starved lungs with precious oxygen. My heart, a wild beast trapped within my chest, thunders against my ribs, its vibrations shaking my body.

“ West ,” she calls my name, her hands gripping my shoulders in an attempt to catch my attention. “It was just a nightmare. Look at me.”

A nightmare. I haven’t had such vivid dreams in a long time. I raise my trembling hands to my eyes, searching for the blood that had covered me just a moment ago.

But my skin is pristine. In disbelief, I turn my face toward Venetia, catching the worry in her jade sparks. The sun is just rising, its golden glow seeping through the window and bathing her exhausted face in warmth. She looks like an angel, though hope and life seem to have been sucked out of her.

“Hey.” She cradles my face in her hands, and I close my eyes, allowing myself to feel her touch. “What was it about? Tell me.”

Tell her?

I squeeze my eyes shut as pain radiates through my stomach, waging a desperate battle against the growing craving for another dose. I’ve sweated off the remnants of the drug, but now I need more. Yesterday was bearable, but today, withdrawal tightens its grip on me, turning my body into a mess. The hallucinations will come soon, and the nightmare will catch up with me.

That’s how it works. It has always been this way.

“I need to go out for a smoke,” I say, grabbing her hands and pulling them away from my face. She’s reluctant, but by no means stronger than me. “I’m okay.”

“No, no,” she protests, desperately trying to reach me. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me .”

I squeeze my eyes shut again, the weight of emotions pressing down on my shoulders, an invisible force dragging me under. I don’t want to hurt her, but when it comes to my addiction, I feel anything but strong. I can’t stay here a moment longer; I want to crush the nightmare before it finds its way back into my head.

“Baby, I’m not going out for long.” My voice trembles as I lie, though I can’t recall when the tears began. I need to stop being such a fucking rag. “I’m just going to grab you some breakfast, okay?”

With immense effort, I rise from the bed, my knees buckling under the searing pain, as if countless venomous needles pierce my skin. Every step becomes a test of endurance, each movement pushing my body to its limits.

I hear her leap off the bed, and before I can reach the front door, she’s right behind me. Her hands wrap around my shoulders, spinning me around with all the strength she can muster. A raspy sob tears from her throat, and I cover my eyes with my fingers, trying to push away the surge of emotions threatening to drown me.

I don’t want to make her sad.

I want to stay.

I want to be with her.

But I don’t want to lash out because I’m in withdrawal and angry at the world around me. I don’t want her to see me sweating, drooling, and shaking from the sickness. It’ll scare her and remind her of who I really am.

A pathetic junkie.

A weak addict who can’t resist his poison.

She called me her hero tonight. I want her to keep seeing me that way.

She reaches out, her fingers finding the curve of my neck, and pulls me down. “Please, stay with me,” she pleads, her tear-filled eyes searching mine. “Don’t go, West. Just… stay for a moment longer.”

“I’m coming back.” My lies aren’t fair to her, but I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I can’t bear to break her more than she already is.

She’s been managing on her own before. She doesn’t need me now.

Before I pull away, I press my lips to her forehead, letting the kiss linger for a moment. The tremor that runs through her vibrates against me, shaking the last remnants of my resolve.

I can hear her sobs even after I close the door behind me and begin to walk away. I’m not sure if the hallucinations have already begun, if my mind is painting images that slowly consume me from within, but it’s clear that I’ve left her like this—crying, begging me to come back and stay. Concern for her is a persistent tide, crashing against the fortified walls of my selfishness.

But it’s not strong enough to breach the defenses.