Page 22 of The Sins That Bleed

I take a long draw and let the elixir do its work; my internal wounds stitching and weaving back together and soon no traces of my injury will be left. I keep inhaling until the pipe is empty, and then fill it again.

The stitches come loose with each drag as they are ejected as my skin repairs, though I quite liked being marked by Rai.

I’m pathetic.

I repeat the process of filling my pipe five times until I feel like my eyes will burst and my skin is liquid. I could climb the walls and tear myself limb from limb with how high I am. Yet the pain of disappointing Sunny rips through me, no matter how high I get, it does nothing to dull the pain.

First, I put her through hell, and then I thought it was a good idea to go to Rai of all people.

I need to do something with the energy buzzing through my system, to stow the blood rage threatening to take over.

It’s not something I’ve been close to for a long time, not since I went on my rampage after I found Sunny and, before that, when I took over the throne from my husband, Kian.

I pride myself on my control, something that comes with being as old as I am, but I’m spiralling. I go to my bag and snatch the dagger from inside it, along with my phone and my now full pipe, then go into the bathroom attached to my room.

I place it all on the edge of the sunken tub that takes up the back wall and overlooks the city. I strip out of my clothes and move them away from the edge so they don’t end up ruined. I pick up the dagger after taking a seat on the edge and avoid looking my reflection in the clean blade.

I haven’t done this for a while. I’ve been able to ignore how much I loathe myself and all the choices I’ve made, and for the choices I’ve been denied.

It’s the only thing that helps, letting the sins slip out as I expel them from under my skin.

I barely feel the tip as it scores a line through the flesh on my thigh, a small slice that produces a thin line of dark-red blood.

I repeat the motion, slashing at my thighs until the tops and insides of both are covered in lines.

It’s not enough. I can still feel my sins burrowing under my skin and I want them out.

My arms are next and I brutalise them, not caring where the slices land but I can still feel them, swirling around and refusing to leave. I can feel the hands of my husband and his men that abused my body however they wanted. I don’t want to feel anything anymore.

I slash at my face, ruining the perfect mask that I wear every single day and the reason I ended up in this fucking position. For my beauty.

Fuck being seen as nothing more than a prize to be won.

It’s only once the handle of the dagger becomes too slick from my blood and it starts to slip in my grip that I stop and let it clatter beside me. I sit there, not staring at anything as my blood seeps out of me, and some of the sins slip away with it.

I move off the edge when the blood starts pooling under me, grateful that the floor and tub are all made with black tile so it won’t stain, and turn the taps on. When there is enough water I wash the edge and hide the evidence of my pain.

I reach for the tray on side of the bath, opening the container for the bath salts and sprinkling it in the rising water. I give up and tip the salt onto my hands and begin scrubbing at my skin, at the shallow open wounds covering my body and face as I try to scrub the dirt from me.

It doesn’t work, because the dirt is inside of me.

I shut the taps off and sink beneath the surface, my tears becoming one with the water as I cry and cry until there’s nothing left.

I cry for the life I once had. I cry for the girl I used to be. I cry for all the people who’ve had to go through what I have. I cry for the ones who have to carry it all.

I cry for me.

I will never be clean, I will never be worthy of anything in this life except washing the world clean. I recognise sin because I am sin. If I cannot have a life filled with love then I will rid it of everything else, to give those who can a chance.

A buzzing cuts through my thoughts and I register that it’s my phone.

I wait a little longer under the pressure of the water, not wanting to rise and face reality, but life goes on in spite of my pain so I breach the surface and look out the window.

I realise that the sun is starting to set, so I must have been in here for a while.

The buzzing picks up again to signal another text message.

I drain the bath and move to the edge where my stuff sits. I take a hit on my pipe to close the wounds. Nobody needs to know my weakness, not when I can hide it. Once I know there’s enough blood in my system to heal my external wounds, I lift my phone.

I swipe up to unlock it and navigate to my messages to see it’s from Rai.

Rai: Let me know you’re alive, mon cauchemar. I can’t have you dying on me when we have a deal.

I sigh. Of course he would be worried about the deal, it’s stupid of me to forget that he only cares because I can offer him something. I read the second message that came in from him.

Rai: P.S. How did you know I love flowers? They’re beautiful, thank you x

I stare at the image he sent me after reading the caption and smile, chin leaning on my arm as I take in every single detail.

The bouquet of red roses stares back at me through the screen, but that’s not the only thing in the photo.

He’s taken a selfie in the mirror, the roses pointing toward it with only his body in the frame, his head cut off at his angular jaw.

It’s the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt so his delicious body is on display, teasing me with the cut lines of his chest, that has me molten. After a few minutes, I decide to confirm I am alive, not wanting him stressing because of the deal we made.

I open the camera app and take a selfie as I rest on my arms, my wet hair starting to dry, covering over parts of my face.

I put no lights on when I came in, so the only light is the setting sun, tinted by the windows, haloing me from behind me.

The glow from the reddish-orange rays cast shadows over my face.

I hit send and follow it up with a reply to his text.

Valeska: Not as beautiful as you, mon chéri.

P.S. Thank you for your help.

I’m spent from the high emotions of the last twenty-four hours, so I slip into bed, wearing his clothes. The image of Rai with roses is the only thing I see when I close my eyes to sleep and I’m grateful that he sent the photo when he did.

Divine timing, if one was to believe in fate.