She can’t forgive me. And doesn’t that make me want to kill harder. Slower.
Lost, I gaze around the kitchen, wondering, what now?
Without her, what? Where am I?
Whoam I?
I’m just a killer without a purpose. A man with nothing to fight for.
My eyes land on a small knife, the blade short for precision. “I love you, Rose,” I say quietly, taking a step back. “With every dark, dirty, corrupt, illegal, immoral piece of me, I fucking love you.” I take the knife, and her eyes widen.
“Danny?”
I pull my T-shirt up over my head and toss it aside. “For not hearing you.” I take the blade to my chest and slash it quickly through my flesh on a hiss.
“No!” She lunges for me, but my arm at full length holds her back.
Another slash.
“Stop it!” she yells, her eyes exploding with tears. “Danny!”
“My punishment, Rose.”
Another cut.
I bite down on my back teeth, the pain very fucking real. But nothing like how I know it would feel if she walks out on me. I will never lose my mind when I’m taking her again. I will never put either of us in that position. I swear it. Yes, our sex life has always been lewd and frenzied, but never have I lost my senses. Never have I not heard her.
Another cut.
“Danny, please, I beg you,” she sobs.
Another cut, this time crossing over the others, my chest becoming a fucking chessboard, the blood now hitting the kitchen floor in fat, messy drops.
“No,” she mumbles, moving back, her eyes darting across my mutilated flesh, but her traumatized face doesn’t stop me, my self-hatred fueling me, making me cut more, take more pain, swallow down the grief.
I hold my breath through the fog of agony, seeing Rose move. She grabs something, holds it up, and I blink, trying to clear my vision.
A knife.
And before I can grasp her intentions, she’s lifted an arm and dragged it through her flesh.
No.
I drop my blade to the floor, snapped from my own crazy to deal with my wife’s. “No!” I lunge forward, knocking the knife from her grasp, and I grab her, hauling her toward me. She’s quickly in my chest, hugging me, my blood-drenched skin seeping into the material of her dress.
“I forgive you,” she sobs, crying into my neck, feeling at my bare back frantically. “Please, just stop hurting yourself.”
I close my eyes and sink into her embrace, my head pounding so hard, my chest throbbing. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, constricting my hold. “I’m so sorry.” I feel her nod into me, clinging tighter, and I open my eyes when I hear movement by the door. Beau’s taking in the scene, the mess of blood, my face, James standing behind her looking a bitwhat the fuck?I’m glad they’re here.
“Hospital?” Beau asks, cool and calm, like she knew the outcome of this particular shitstorm.
I shake my head. “First aid box is in the cupboard.”
She moves quickly while James wanders in slowly, in no rush at all. His eyes are questioning. He knows. He knows what I did, and I fucking hate the concern I see. I look away, ashamed, knowing he’ll be wondering if it’s time for me to back away from the frontline before I kill myself, whether that be through drinking too much or cutting myself to shreds. Before I do anythingelsestupid. Either or, my frame of mind is clear.
Fucking crazy.
“Rose, baby,” I say quietly, easing her from my chest, sucking back air as her dress peels away from my open wounds. “We need to clean you up.” Her hair is sticking to her wet cheeks, her mascara staining her face. I take her arm and inspect the damage, wincing at the deep wound. “You stupid, stupid woman,” I breathe as she sniffles and sniffs, motionless before me. “Get Doc.”