Page 48 of Scorpion

I’m a fucking mess, and there’s nothing that will ever fix me. This was always going to be a bad idea; I was just stupid enough to believe life would become kinder.

For now, I just need to get in the goddamn car.

I squeeze my eyes shut and slide into the car. The door slams behind me and I flinch.

Shivers wrack through my body and bile clogs my throat. My gaze fixes on the window while Mathijs goes from call to call. Yelling at people and demanding information. I’m not sure why he’s certain it was Goldchild when there are other threats out there. I don’t have it in me to ask. If I open my mouth, I’m scared nothing is going to come out. Just like when I tried screaming for help after the bomb hit.

Once we reach the house, I throw the car door open and stumble out before it comes to a stop. I think Mathijs yells for me. I think Sergei tries to stop me. I’m not sure. I just need to get out of here. Far away from everyone.

My vision blurs and my pulse pounds in my head. The ground crunches beneath me as I run to my house.

Not my house. His. There’s nothing that belongs to me.

Life was meant to be shaping up for me. Everything is right there for me to improve and stop living in the past. The raids I’ve done in the past two months went by fine because I was expecting to get shot at. How the fuck am I expected to be a guard when I can’t tolerate a surprise attack?

Useless. That’s what my mother would call me. Pathetic. Good for nothing.

I stumble into the pool house and rush for the bathroom. I hunch over the sink in an attempt to drag oxygen into my lungs. My eyes burn with unshed tears. Mom was fucking right.

What was I thinking when I got into this dress and put makeup on? Who was I trying to fool? My insides are uglier than my outsides. I need it to match. I’m meant to be scared, damaged and broken everywhere.

My fist flies out, colliding with a solid surface. The mirror shatters against my knuckles and I sob without tears. My hands keep moving. Striking out. Hoping that I might feel something other than emptiness and rage. It doesn’t matter how many shards of glass embed itself into my skin, or how much crimson drips from the mirror and stains my reflection. The strikes do nothing. Why can’t I fucking feel it?

I’m a mess who’s better off dead. No one but Mathijs is going to mourn my passing. A week from now, everyone would have forgotten I ever existed. I’d be another number on a never-ending tally of people who never made it back from deployment.

I might have killed Mathijs. I could kill him one day. I was meant to be my team’s eyes and I didn’t see the attack coming back then. How am I meant to be someone’s protector? Is this how I expect to live every day?

My mother was right. I was never meant for greatness. There would never be a version of me where I would leave better than how I came in. All but one person I care about has died. I’m the common denominator here.

I pull my arm back and punch the mirror with a cry. It hurts somewhere deep in my center and I need to gouge it out. I stumble back, clawing at my chest to make the pain stop. My sights land on a shard of glass. Pointed like a… like a knife.

My fingers tremble as I reach for it. Blood drips down from my knuckles to the broken glass and drops to the floor. The harsh edges dig into my palms, slicing through thick skin to bring a pool of red to the surface.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection, and a single word comes to mind: Pretty.

That’s the word that crossed my mind when I saw these clothes earlier today. The person in the mirror doesn’t deserve to hold any acquaintance with those two syllables after the hell that has followed me on my heels and consumed everything that’s good.

I press the tip of the glass against my wrist. Crimson beads on the surface in settled silence. The slightest prick, and my nerves settle. It’s the same feeling I get before I step into a ring without promise that I’ll make it out alive. I push harder, hungry to fall into the headiness of acceptance. One cut, and it’ll all be over. It’s easier this way. Better. If I’m dead, the hurt will stop, right? I’ll be with TJ and Gaya and nothing else would matter.

If the blade goes deeper, would I be met by total darkness? Would everything cease to exist? Or would I close my eyes and wake in a different body to do everything all over again just like Mom believed? Or would there be pearly gates?

“What are you doing?”

I gasp when the makeshift blade flies out of my hand and shatters on the floor. Warm arms engulf me in a tight embrace, then haul me out of the bathroom. I thrash against the hold without using any skill or tact, throwing my arms out and hoping I meet skin.

“Zalak.”

No, no, no, he wasn’t meant to see this. I thrash harder, but he only holds on tighter. A sob tears through my body. The carpet burns my skin as I kick my legs out fruitlessly. “Let me go,” I cry.

The pain had stopped. It was getting quiet. Why did he have to ruin it? I could have finally been free and died being my mother’s greatest disappointment. I left him once; he’ll survive if I do it again. He knows the drill already. Sergei can protect him better than I ever could. One day I might kill him, and that would destroy me.

“Never.” Mathijs lowers us to the floor, uncaring of my protests. He looks like a man who’s been broken too many times and this is his last straw. Teardrops gather on the lashes surrounding his eyes that are so full of pain. It’s a stark contrast to the grinning man I knew.

“Please,” I beg. “You have to. I can’t do it anymore. It’s too late. I can’t go back.” Just let me die. Please.

He threads his fingers into my hair and presses his lips to the top of my head. “I can’t lose you,” he rasps.

Can anyone really keep a ghost? This was bound to happen eventually. I’m a ticking time bomb; it’s only a matter of time when I go off.

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