14. Forever For Her （Is Over For Me） #4
Harkins pushes his head against my thighs, burrowing his face into me and squeezing tight. He breathes hard, shaking through his inhales and exhales until my hands are on him.
“I’m here,” I remind him, lifting his chin up to look at me.
He brings me in tighter, not letting go until he’s steady again.
When he stands, he’s all confidence, all barbed wire and full of defenses so the doctor can’t sniff out any weakness.
His eyes widen at the sight of Demetri walking toward him with the big tweezers, shaking and protesting again, like he’s gonna magically break free from the chair.
“Be still, please, Mister Valerian. One wrong move and…” Demetri chuckles. “Well, I’m sure you know what could happen.”
I gasp, playing along and clapping my hands. “I don’t know! Tell me, Doctor Harkins!”
“Well, I’m certainly not a surgeon.” Demetri laughs. “So, he’ll probably be dead.”
“Let me go, you lunatics!” he manages to yell. “I have a family!”
“It’s weak,” I lament, “you trying to force some sort of pity from us.” I chuckle. “I find that so many daughters end up better off once their fathers are gone. Tell me, Mister Valerian, do you have daughters?”
He doesn’t answer, his whole face bright red from how much he fights his restraints. Demetri makes the final cut, throwing the blood-drenched knife across the table.
“W-what are you doing?” the trembling doctor asks, his panicked gaze darting in every direction but unable to see my man.
Demetri stands behind him, holding the forceps thing in his left hand. He pinches at the skin, clucking his tongue when he can’t grab it on the first or the second try.
I wrinkle my nose. “Why are you using your left hand?”
He looks down, as if hiding his expression from me. Is it shame?
“Demetri,” I call his name.
He tsks, throwing his head to the side. “My grip isn’t great with my right hand right now.”
I frown, hesitant. “What do you mean? How come?”
The doctor lets out a weak laugh. “You didn’t even tell her?” He coughs in painful spurts, blood splattering everywhere. “Pathetic.”
Demetri snarls at the psychiatrist, but I grab the tweezers from his hand and lift the sleeve shielding his other arm. The sight shocks my system. I drop the tool on the ground, gasping loudly, covering my mouth with my hands.
“Demetri,” I whisper, my voice shaky and unsteady.
I trace my finger with a phantom touch over the length of the cut, starting at the base of his wrist and reaching halfway up his forearm.
It’s horrific. The skin is pink and angry surrounding the torn skin.
Large stitches holding his flesh together, a thick scab beginning to crust over it all in some places while in others it bleeds again.
He pulls his arm away, quickly covering it back up with his sleeve. “I had to get in here,” he says, shaking his head.
Dr. Valerian laughs, like a perfect Hollywood villain waiting to cut in. “Liar. I watched the surveillance video. He cried like a baby for you. Couldn’t go on without you.” He coughs mid-laughter, spraying blood over himself.
“You were going to kill yourself?” I manage the words out, my jaw nearly wiring itself shut from a building rage.
Demetri answers, gaze fixed to the floor. “I figured they would either admit me, or I’d at least get to end this misery of being without you.”
The action comes without thought. My hand flies, striking him across the face. I pull back immediately, both of us stunned by my response.
The anger flowing through me isn’t tempered by violence, not when it comes to this. “How dare you?” The anger quickly turns into tears. “I would have endured a lifetime in here just to be able to come back to you for a day. Meanwhile, you were looking for the easiest way out?”
He shakes his head. “That’s not what I was doing.”
“Bullshit!” I’m yelling now. “What would have happened to me if you had died? What would have happened to us?”
He doesn’t answer. He just stares at me, a solemn expression that says everything without spoken words.
Regret.
Pain.
Emptiness.
I rush into his arms, pressing my face into his chest and letting the tears come.
If he is nothing without me, then what does that make me?
Demetri was the only thing that kept me going here, the only thought that fueled my mind and soul that anything out there would be worth a damn.
He’s my only reason for fighting, my reason for breathing.
“Never again, please.” My words come out a muffled sob, my sounds and tears sinking into the fabric of the straitjacket.
He pulls me in tighter, holding me closer and suffocating me with his massiveness. I convinced myself that I was bad for him, that I was this tainting force that darkened his life and ruined his world.
Clarity dissipates the fog and shows me how even the soil we stand on is. Demetri needs me just as much as I need him. Our love is corruption, and we were made to be defiled by one another.
“I’m sorry, Camila.” He speaks with his lips pressed to the top of my head, the doctor’s anger growing in the distance and interrupting our moment.
“Let me do it for you?” I turn to the psychiatrist, grabbing a tuft of hair from his scalp for support as I use the forceps to peel the skin like a well-adhered sticker.
From his mouth falls agony, incoherent yelling in every inch I separate skin from bone, fascia and nerve endings pulling like angel hair pasta from his skull. He passes out before I can fully rip the skin off.
“It’s still stuck,” I tell Demetri, sticking my fingers on the side where it won’t come off, using brute force to peel it up. “Get the lidocaine.”
He frowns. “I thought you wanted him to feel it?”
I sigh, still working the flap free. “I forgot about the bone. We’re gonna need to use the saw.”
Demetri lifts a curious eyebrow. “What are you planning here?”
I grin so big, my teeth show. “I wanna zap his brain like he zapped mine!”
My beloved’s face brightens at the idea, and he turns back to the medical cabinets to sort through the equipment. I’m still trying to filet the top of the doctor’s head off when Demetri exclaims, “Got it!”
He turns back my way, holding the vial of anesthesia in one hand and a small surgical saw in the other.
“Fuck yes,” I exhale, grabbing the saw from his hand.
It’s a lot more work than either of us imagined to rip a head open. We sedate him more for our own benefit, because the screaming hurts me on a level I can’t tolerate. I almost consider giving myself a stab of lidocaine to get through the rest of the day.
“Mila,” Harkins calls, dragging my attention back to the task, but I’m struggling to keep up.
“Oh, right. We were…” I take a moment, knowing I can unscramble my thoughts myself. He lets me, watching me with hopeful eyes. “The head ripping.” I press the button on the power saw, trying my best to go deep enough to slice through his skull without killing him.
The vibration is intense; it almost hurts my hand just to maintain control of the tool, let alone keep my hand steady. Dr. Valerian comes to from the buzzing, crying and screaming even though at this point, he’s numb and half the fun is gone.
It doesn’t stop me. I have a mission now, and I’m not leaving until it’s complete.
He muffles out a “Let me go,” belligerent from his own shock, assuming he has any say in his situation. I pull the stuffing from his mouth so he can speak clearly. “You’ll go to prison for this.”