Page 34 of Stitches

In my life, I was always fine until I wasn’t. I had issues with losing control. I suppose I needed help, but I’d never really gotten any. There wasn’t a time in my life when I was ever able to control myself if I let go.

This time would be no different.

My fist smashed down on his face. The crack of my knuckles making contact made him drop the knife. It clattered to the floor, the blood dribbling down my arm and hand.

“Stupid fucking idiot,” I snarled, smashing him in the face again. And again.

He groaned beneath me, but he was quick to hit me back, knocking me sideways off him. Within moments, we were tangling with one another, fists and curse words flying.

Sinclair Priest was strong as hell and knew how to fight, but so did I.

You’re going to kill one another. Knock it off. Seth. SETH! Don’t fuck this up by making me show up! Focus. Fucking FOCUS!

The voice screamed in my head so loud I sagged back, ignoring the hit Sin landed against my ribs.

“Truce, asshole,” I said breathlessly, my shirt covered in both our blood.

“Whatever.” He shoved me once more.

I ground my teeth and grabbed the knife. I was so pissed I was still seeing red. With an elaborate twirl, I pointed the knife just beneath his jaw.

“I’ve killed three people by hacking off their limbs,” I said in a soft, dangerous voice. “Four if you count the motherfucker who died by me gutting him. Don’t be the fifth.”

He glared up at me and wiped at the blood on his face from his busted nose.

“You don’t really want to die. I can see inside your soul, Sinclair. I know you better than you know yourself,” I continued in that soft voice. “I’m not Asylum and won’t just finish you off right here, but if you try that shit again when we told you to stop, I’ll give you something to scream about. You get me?”

He visibly swallowed. “You’re nuts.”

“So are you. Welcome to the fucking madhouse. Now get your shit together. Either we move forward and get what we deserve, or I’ll fuck you with the blade of this knife. Trust me when I say I’m not fucking gentle.”

His gray eyes darted to the knife, his chest heaving, the blood still trickling from his nose.

“I know you want to go home. So do I. How about we figure out how to make that a reality and stop these punishments? You’ve paid your penance with the physical pain. Now it’s time to get up off your fucking knees and take back what’s yours.”

“I can’t stop,” he said, his voice wavering and the fight leaving him. “I need to prove myself.”

“You’ll end up dying when you go too far. You nearly did just days ago. I’m asking that you trust us this one time. I promise we will deliver you back home if you have a little faith in the process.”

No one ever trusts the fucking process.

Shut up. Not now.

Just pointing out the truth. Fucking stab his ass. Prove a point so he understands the gravity of the situation. Of your words.

I snapped my attention to the right. “You shouldn’t have stopped me or it would have already been done.”

We all make mistakes.

The voice quieted, and I looked back to Sin.

“How do you do that?” He pointed to his head. A drizzle of blood oozed from his nose, and he wiped at it.

I took the opportunity to swipe at the pain in my arm. He’d really fucked me up. I’d probably need stitches. Sighing, I left the room without answering him and went to the bathroom we shared and dug out my suturing kit and set to work cleaning the nasty cut.

Sin leaned against the doorway, watching me through the mirror. I began stitching the wound back together without any medication to numb it.

“Are you going to answer me?” he asked after a beat of silence.

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