Page 76 of Irreversible

It’s over.

I failed.

I blink slowly as the drugs take over, and I sag against Roger’s chest, succumbing.

The last thing I hear is my name.

His nickname for me.

Bee.

17

Clipped words. A garble of sound. Blurry faces and streaks of light.

I’m being moved. Carried away.

My eyelids feel like leaden paper weights as I struggle to keep them open long enough to identify something. Voices seep into my psyche, unidentifiable and strange.

Gibberish.

I part my lips to speak, but only a frayed moan flutters past my lips. No words make it through. Just agony.

It feels like I’m underwater, a mermaid, floating through vivid coral and schools of fish. I become a character in a book with fins and jewels and water-spun hair, soaring skyward toward a happy ending. Sunlight on my skin, legs made for running, a voice that holds power and new songs to sing.

But the dull ache pounding between my legs squashes the fantasy. Sweat trickles down my temple in a slow-motion glide as I teeter on a rolling cot, my belly in cramps and my weightless arms glued to my sides. Strapped down and tied.

I’m not swimming.

I’m sinking.

The agony falls out again; a cry for help, a plea for mercy. “Please…”

Please, set me free.

Please, let me go.

Please, carry me to the room next door, so I can release my dying breath in the arms of someone I trust. He can sing me my favorite song, and I’ll have a final moment of peace before I slip away for good. I’ve earned that. I deserve that.

I don’t want to die here.

Mostly…I don’t want to die alone.

Minutes trudge by in a painful haze as I’m carted through the door and into my familiar hell. The straps release. My body is no more than a lifeless sack of skin and bones when I’m rolled off the gurney and deposited on my stiff cot. I land in a heap, strings of hair scattered across my face, legs half-dangling over the mattress, and one arm sprawled out while the other drapes across my chest.

I blink countless times, but everything is still a fog. I think it’s Roger walking away from me. A mass of lumbering cruelness. “Roger,” I call out, my voice full of scrapes and holes.

The figure pauses midway to the open door.

It is him.

My only chance at getting out of here.

“Please,” I croak. “Please, don’t leave me.” I try to soften him with sympathy. Appeal to a part of him I know must be there, hidden deep and buried.

He makes a sound that’s part-grunt, part-sigh. His hesitation sends a meager wave of strength through me, and I inch up on my elbows as they shiver and shake. I can hardly move, remnants of the anesthesia still coursing through my blood.

I glance at my wrist, where the bracelet used to reside. I’d taken it off earlier, hiding it underneath my pillow. If I can find it, I can lure him closer, slip it into his pocket, and?—

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