Page 45 of Stiletto's Savior

“Enough,” I choke out, angry at my own weakness. “Just... stop.”

I want to scream. To punch something. But all I can do is stand here and watch the girl in the mirror crumble.

“You’re fine. It doesn’t matter if no one believes you. You’re fine.” I tell her, but the words sound hollow.

“Just breathe,” I repeat, but breaths come in short gasps.

Each inhale feels like a betrayal.

“Why can’t I just be okay? Why does everyone point out the fact I’m not okay?” I ask the empty room, my voice breaking.

A soft sob escapes me. I don’t want this. I don’t want to feel like this.

The knife glints under the harsh bathroom light. I don’t hesitate.

My hand reaches for it, fingers wrapping around the cool metal.

It feels solid, real.

I raise it, staring at my wrists.

My pulse beats in time with my racing heart.

A whisper of fear curls in my gut but I push it away.

The blade hovers above my skin.

I can almost hear the echo of those dark thoughts screaming through me.

They taunt me. They mock me.

With a quick flick, I press the edge against my wrist.

The sting is sharp, immediate. Red blooms, vivid against my pale skin.

“God,” I gasp, a mix of pain and relief washing over me.

I watch as the crimson flows, a release.

It’s beautiful in a twisted way, like the chaos inside me finally finding an outlet.

“Why does this feel good?” I whisper, shaking my head, but I can’t stop the next cut. Another slice.

“Just breathe,” but breaths come rapid and shallow.

My vision blurs and darkness takes me.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Miles

I lean back against the bar, my whiskey glass empty.

The clatter of footsteps pulls my attention.

Alexa and Cheyenne emerge from upstairs, shaking their heads like they just lost a battle.

Alexa’s voice is tight with frustration. “She won’t listen,”

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