Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty Six
Isaac
The basement blurs… I only see her… My nose crinkles, and my mouth falls open, but no words come.
An uncontrollable shudder sweeps through my body, making my temperature drop as I watch in horror as Ronnie continues to plunge the knife in and out.
I swallow rapidly, trying to bring myself back here.
To be with her. I’ve lost count of how many times she’s stabbed him.
There’s so much blood. All I can hear is her broken sobs that blend with the uncontrollable laughter.
Her hair is a matted crown of curls that frame her face. ..
I feel Priscilla take a few tentative steps backwards, trying to remain undetected by my butterfly, who finally broke out of her cocoon. The wildly beautiful woman of my dreams. I inhale a shaky breath, trying to steady myself, slowly turning my head towards Priscilla.
“You have to let me go…. She will kill you.”
I hope she doesn’t. That I can spare her any further damage alone is trauma surfacing in the rawest form.
A violence born out of survival. Priscilla doesn’t deserve death.
That would be too easy. She needs to rot in prison, to live with what she’s done.
With Harry being dead,the only justice here is a long prison sentence and the truth of what happened here.
To us. To the couple before us. Priscilla hesitates, her body trembling with fear as her gaze remains fixed on Harry, dead on the ground.
Her thin lips curl into a small smile before morphing to frown that makes her chin quiver with emotion.
Tears run down her cheeks. I need her to snap out of it.
“Hey. Priscilla. Listen to me.” I rattle the chain softly, causing her to flinch and take a breath.
“He’s dead,” she mutters as she looks down the trail of crimson making its way to us. “Harry…” Priscilla lets out a strangled sound that she muffles with her hand. “Harry…”
“Yeah. He’s dead,” I add, pity taking hold of my heart, and I hate the kindness that I was raised to carry.
My voice softens along with my features.
I need to get out of these chains and help Ronnie, who’s still working on Harry.
Locked in her mind, all she sees now is despair and rage.
Not that I blame her, but she needs grounding. She needs me. I can’t fail her now.
“Get the keys,” I plead with the woman beside me, noticing how she palms her womb.
Something twists in my stomach, settling heavy in my chest. Something is not right.
My body screams like a warning. A prophecy.
She doesn’t acknowledge me as she moves in slow motion towards Harry, careful not to disturb my queen.
The blood is everywhere. All over her face.
The ground, and it is seeping through the cracks.
The sight leaves me breathless... It might be wrong to feel this way.
To be this in love, this proud and scared.
Dare I say, my girl isn’t a sunflower. She has bloomed into a lotus.
Even in the harshest environment, my girl grew, covered in red instead of soil.
All she needs now is someone to bring her back to herself.
To ground her. Love her through the changes.
I swallow hard and fast, trying to reach her and bring her back to me. Back to her.
“Ronnie,” I say, trying to reel her back in. “Mi amor, look at me,” I plead, but she’s lost in her anger… her pain. Priscilla shakes as she pulls off Harry’s left boot and retrieves a silver key.
Squelch. Squelch.
The knife keeps going down, overkill even for the situation.
The sight is truly something out of a horror movie, his face unrecognizable, and then it dawns on me.
She’s not unaware... She’s erasing him. Destroying the features that will always haunt her.
“Ronnie…” I need to snap her out of it. Priscilla crawls back towards me.
“Call 9-1-1,” I order her as she hands me the key, her hands trembling.
Before she can leave, I grab her hand and squeeze it, giving her a reassuring smile.
Again, she doesn’t speak, only nods. Sneaking behind me, she leaves the basement.
Quickly, I begin to release myself, removing the chains, not bothering to rub out the ache rooted deep within my bones.
Once I get them all off, I don’t waste any time before sneaking behind Ronnie and wrapping my hand over hers.
Holding the knife with my hand, she screams in protest as the blade slices through, cutting me in the process.
I bite back the pain… blinking away the sight, allowing once more for the world to blur, leaving her to be my only focus.
“Let me go!” she sneers, her body uncontrollably trembling against mine.
“No, not doing that.” My other hand bands around her waist, both of us now straddling a very dead Harry.
My girl wails and thrashes, going absolutely feral in my arms. The smell of iron and sweat saturates the air.
There’s no getting through to her right now.
Doesn’t mean I don’t keep trying, I fill her with my love…
my silence. Holding her in place, taking all she has to give.
Loving her through the ugly, through the pain.
Unyielding. My love is an impenetrable wall of steel, hard and ready to cover her within it.
“Give it all to me, baby. I can take it. Let me carry some for you. Break me if you want,” I whisper as she continues to thrash, tugging at the knife. “I got you,” I whisper. “I’m so fucking proud of you. You saved us. You.”
Her body sags into me, her erratic breathing slowing down to long, purposeful breaths that match my own. The knife falls from her hand, landing on Harry’s gutted stomach. I keep my eye on it as I wrap my fingers around her neck and pull her into me.
“You’re safe. We’re free. I got you,” I whisper as sobs wrack through her body, and I weather it all.
Silencing my own screams of agony and just cradling her closer, swaying gently in an effort to calm the wildness within her.
We rock side to side, envisioning the way the pirate ship swayed when we would play at the park.
The metallic tang of blood is heavy in the air, coating the back of my throat.
The pool of crimson puddled beneath us continues to widen, soaking us.
“I got you…. my pretty sunflower… Come back to me… Stay with me.”
Ronnie’s body trembles like a leaf in a storm, yet slowly, it starts to subside under the rhythm of my swaying.
Her hair, matted with blood and perspiration, sticks to her forehead as she turns her face into my chest. Her breaths hiccup through the silent basement, each one echoing off the bare concrete walls and back into the space between us.
I tighten my grip, feeling her broken sobs starting to ease, starting to soften.
Once she’s calm enough, I pull us away from Harry, blocking his body with my own and bringing my girl back to me.
“Look at me,” I plead again, but her eyes don’t lift.
“Ronnie, it’s okay,” I whisper as I pepper kisses on her bloody face and the corners of her trembling mouth.
She doesn’t respond. She’s so cold. So fucking cold against my heated skin.
My hands shake, barely containing my fear and anxiety.
Holy shit, she did it. My girl got us out, not me, but her.
And to think I had felt as if I couldn’t love and admire her more—I was wrong.
Right here, in this moment, I felt like the Grinch; my heart only grew in size with respect and admiration for her bravery and strength.
I gently lift her chin with my bloodied hand, trying to make her meet my eyes, needing to see her beautiful, stormy grey orbs.
“Look at me… You did it... Look at me.” When she finally does, I crash my lips into hers, drowning out the sob that tries to escape her lips.
She tastes like fear and courage, like relief and trauma all in one.
But underneath it all is the flavor of Ronnie, the wild sunflower who’d dared to defy the odds.
There’s a faint taste of blood on her lips, but I don’t care. This is survival. This is love.
We cling to each other as the sirens pierce through the air and footsteps begin pounding above us.
The rapid thump-thump-thump reverberates through the concrete.
We were safe. I cry, holding onto her as her body shakes with relief, her sobs finally dying down.
Her breaths even out against my chest, the caged bird inside her finally able to breathe a sigh of reprieve.
I’m sure it’s the same for me; the adrenaline, the terror, the uncertainty—it all starts to dissipate, leaving raw relief in its wake.
The door opens, and men in uniform surround us. Guns drawn, as they inspect the room.
“We made it,” I whisper again and again into her ear, stroking her dirty hair with a gentleness that surprises even me.
My sunflower is wilting, but she’s alive, and that’s all I can ask for.
She finally surrenders to the exhaustion, to the relief.
Her body slumps against mine in a manner that speaks of absolute trust and utter vulnerability.
The room fills up with bustling bodies and shouted orders, yet all I can hear is the soft, rhythmic breathing of my girl.