Chapter 94 #2
Immediately, I clutched it tightly.
No, no…
“Davian…,” I sobbed. “Please stop me. Hold me tight…”
I wanted him to take that box and throw it away, to take me in his arms and carry me away from here, to hide me.
Deep down, I knew that in this world I would never be safe from the brutality of life.
There was only one safe place.
I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing myself to be torn apart from the inside, as the tsunami waves towered higher and higher above me.
They would leave nothing of me behind when they were done with me.
I would drown.
Die slowly.
Over years.
There was no life left. Nothing left to hope for. Only a tunnel growing ever darker, and I was too weak to walk in the darkness for all eternity. Haunted by images of my father, of Mama...
Gasping and sobbing, I pulled the matchbox toward me, no longer able to breathe through my nose, clogged with tear-filled snot.
I slid the box out of its sleeve.
As soon as the silver blades inside flashed, everything inside me tightened.
I didn’t want to.
There was so much fear inside me.
So much panic.
My father was right. I was too weak to do it.
But I was also his daughter.
A violent sob overwhelmed me, and something in my chest tore, as if I were plunging from free fall into a sea of millions of shards at that very moment.
This was the only way.
My hands were shaking so violently, I could barely get the blade out of the box and cut my fingertips, yet I felt nothing.
Blood pooled at the small cuts, and the blade almost slipped from my fingers.
Again I sobbed, buried my face in the paper, and squeezed my eyes shut.
Instinctively, my hand slid to the scar beneath my breast and pressed against it, but the pain that usually brought such relief didn’t reach me.
“Davian…,” I whimpered desperately, pulled my knees up to my chest, rolled over to the other side, and opened my eyes, staring into the chaos.
I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t leave him alone.
But I was too weak to make that decision.
The decision had already been made.
I stretched out my quivering arm, staring at the blade I was guiding toward my wrist with my other hand.
It nearly slipped from my trembling fingers.
When it made contact with my wrist, I gasped sharply, sobbed in agony, and buried my head once more in the paper beneath me.
Everything inside me wanted to see Davian. One last time.
But I couldn’t. He would stop me. And then it would be too late.
If I didn’t do it now, I would never get the chance again.
And the mere thought of it let the tsunami wave grow and curl above me, untamed.
It was ready to shatter me.
I no longer wanted to feel emptiness.
No pain.
Nothing.
This was my only way out.
I lifted my head, and the hand holding the blade began to tremble more violently.
“I’m sorry, Davian.” My voice died in a whimper. “I’m so, so sorry…”
With one swift motion and strong pressure, I drew the blade across my wrist.
Bleeding Out
Molly Hunt
The unfamiliar, piercing pain made me gasp sharply.
Not a second later, blood gushed from the gaping slit the blade had left in my skin, as if it were desperate to leave my body.
In disbelief, I sucked in a breath.
I had done it.
An unusually liberating sense of relief flooded the last nerves still functioning despite my brain’s system failure. Then spasmodic pain set in where the blade had cut through my skin, and I pulled my hand to my stomach, gasping again.
I had done it.
I was actually bleeding.
And it didn't stop…
Wouldn't stop…
My gasping grew more and more violent.
I was going to lose Davian.
I was actually going to lose him.
The pain in my chest was the most intense I had ever felt. A brutal tearing. As if the mass inside me were fighting against its unstoppable disintegration.
I wanted to scream his name, but I felt too weak. Instead, I grimaced and sobbed loudly, feeling the moths in my stomach catching fire and fighting frantically for their survival.
They would be the last to die.
They were his.
The merciless tearing inside my chest wouldn’t stop, ready to burst the ink lump inside me so that I would pass out under the explosion of pain. Pain from losing him before I’d even really had him.
With every second that blood poured out of me, I was cutting our blue thread.
I was our destruction.
I prayed that the police would hide my body from him. The mere thought that he might see me like this broke my heart.
I didn’t want to leave him alone. Not like this…
The desperate sobbing gained the upper hand, and I pressed my aching wrist against my stomach.
With growing desperation, I lifted my head, looked around for the quill, but couldn’t find it.
I felt the warm blood soaking through the fabric of my dress against my stomach, let my uninjured right hand wander toward the fountain pen nib around my neck, and searched with my eyes for the piece of paper I had seen earlier.
It took far too long to find it.
I didn’t hesitate for a second, ripped the necklace from my neck, and dipped the tip of the nib into the pool of blood forming in my palm from one of the rivulets of blood streaming down my wrist, while the scraps beneath me gradually turned red.
Every word I managed to get on paper filled me with remorse. Remorse that only failed to get the better of me because the adrenaline was raging so fiercely inside me.
It wanted me to survive, wanted to drown me in panic every few seconds, wanted me to leave this attic and seek help.
But there was nothing left in this world that could help me.
Eventually, the panic inside me subsided. And with it, the adrenaline. Until a pleasant calm washed over me.
What if this was the most peaceful end I could ever have had? What if I should let him know…
I wanted to hold the nib upright, but it took effort.
I wanted to sleep…
My eyelids fluttered.
I knew that the next sentence would be my last.
My Inkbird.
“I’m sorry…”
I didn’t know if I spoke the words as I let the nib sink and closed my fist around it. Not even that worked… As if I were losing the strength to grip anything…
I wanted to close my eyes. Just for a second… Just for a moment…
I was so tired…
With all my remaining strength, I forced myself to search for the blade again, found it immediately beside me, and pressed it against my wrist. This time, the other one.
They shouldn’t have a chance to bring me back.
I barely had any strength left, but I flinched and gasped as I slit the blade through my wrist.
Deeper than before.
Much deeper.
Until the pain in my arm reminded me that I was still alive and a muffled wave of adrenaline washed over me.
No sound escaped my dry throat as bright red blood spurted rhythmically from my wrist.
There was no connection to my hand.
My arm slumped to the ground.
A spasm shot through that arm, more painful than on the other side, and I rolled onto my back, exhausted, closed my eyes as cramps that I had never felt before tore through me.
Someone wrapped their arms around me, gently stroked my bare arms, and brought their lips to my ear.
“You’re ready,” I heard Vincent whisper softly. “Let me take you to Wonderland.”
I didn’t resist him, feeling him lift me up.
The image of Davian flickered before my mind’s eye. How he – on his car roof at the beach – looked down at me in his arms, the sunlight in his ocean eyes…
He had eyes only for the setting sun.
The image grew fainter and fainter.
I wanted to hold on to it, wanted to feel his lips on mine.
One last time.
But he slipped away from me.
My Inkbird.
Where are you, my Blue?
– Leaking Batteries Diary