Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“P-please…” I beg. “Please stop torturing me with my own self. Please.”
I know my pleas have no effect whatsoever, but it’s the last hope I can hold on to. The last thread that can save me. Because I desperately need saving right now.
And I don’t trust myself to do it anymore. If I try, I’ll just make it worse. I’ll spiral out of control and slide down the path of no return.
Next thing I know, I’ll be my own demons.
I’ll be my own downfall.
I’ll be the thing I’ve run away from my entire life.
“Please make it stop.” My voice chokes and I sniffle. “Please. I’ll do anything.”
This time, the wind isn’t my answer. The shuffling of footsteps comes from around the trees.
My feet falter and I stop breathing. My demons couldn’t have found me this soon.
Though…wait. This is reality. My demons don’t show up in reality. That means the footsteps belong to someone more dangerous than them.
I spin around and sprint ahead, elbowing the low branches out of my way. The fallen leaves crunch under my flat shoes, but I don’t stop to think about the sound I’m making—which gives a clear indication of where I am. That’s not important right now. If I’m caught, I’ll be killed.
Actually, my fate will be a lot worse than death.
Live. You’re a fighter. You were born to live.
Mom’s words echo in my head, charging me with a large dose of adrenaline. I have to live and stay that way for both of us.
I need to live.
The footsteps grow closer with every passing second until their thudding is right behind me. I don’t look back or even try to. Instead, I use the trees as camouflage, dashing between them so fast, my tendons cry out in pain.
If my pattern is irregular, he won’t find me. If I’m unpredictable, I’ll be able to escape death’s clutches.
I was taught to never take the short end of the stick or have less than what I deserve. It’s ironic that he taught me that but is now coming after me.
So ironic.
The trees clear out and I come to a screeching halt at the top of a cliff. Pebbles escape from under my feet and roll down over the huge boulders and finally to the dark, murky water that’s crashing against the rocks. The sound of raging waves echoes in the air like a symphony of death.
The sky is completely cloudy now, casting a gloomy shadow on the angry sea.
As I peer down, a strange yet familiar thought plays at the back of my head.
It would be so easy to end it. So easy.
One step is all it takes. One step and I’ll drown my demons with my own hands.
One step and I’ll kill them once and for all, so they’ll never come out again.
“Do it.”
A shudder zaps through my spine at the sinister voice coming from behind me.
He found me.
I whirl around so fast, I lose my footing and swing backward. I reach out to him and grip his arm with both hands, nails digging into his shirt. Blood smears on the light gray cloth as evidence of my desperation to live.
He’s motionless, like a cold statue, as I remain suspended in mid-air. His face is shadowed and I can’t see anything except the contours of his jawline and hair.
Since I know he won’t make a move to help me, I try to use my hold on his sleeve to pull myself up.
“You ended a life.” His calm yet threatening tone stops me in my tracks.
I shake my head violently. “I d-didn’t want to.”
“It still happened.”
“No, please…don’t…”
“Die for your sins.” He yanks his hand free and I stumble backward and down the cliff.
I open my mouth to shriek, but no sound comes out. The fall isn’t as painful as I expected it to be. If anything…it’s peaceful.
After taking one last look at the silhouette peering down on me, I close my eyes, letting the tears loose.
It’s finally the end.
1
Adrian
The scent of roses has morphed into the stench of death.
I stare down at the blood gushing from her wounds, at the life stubbornly leaving her body without pause or second thoughts.
The red color is marring her fair skin, painting rivulets down her arms and legs and contouring her soft face.
Her eyes are open, but she’s not looking at me. Their blue is blank, vanished, already existing someplace else where I don’t belong.
I cradle her head in my arms, gently stroking her dark brown hair. Lifting a wet strand, I inhale deeply, searching for what’s possibly my last fix of roses. It doesn’t matter if they’re thorny and would prick me in the process. The method holds no importance to me as long as I get things done.
What greets me is the furthest thing from roses. It’s not even death. It’s worse.