Page 230 of Kiss the Villain

It was warm, but now it’s cold.

Because it’s no longer inside him.

It’s on me. My hands. My chest. My jeans. Everywhere but inhim.

I grab onto the sink in the hospital’s bathroom and turn on the faucet, then scrub at the blood, harshly, incessantly, until I’m sure I’ll scrub the fucking skin off.

A flicker of fear slams into my throat and widens the void as I watch his blood diluting and trickling down the drain.

What if… What if that’s the last time I touch him?

No.

I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe deeply. Inhale. Slow exhale. Count to ten like he always tells me to do when my thoughts spiral.

My lips quiver, and my eyes sting with unshed tears.

If…if he’s not there anymore, who’s going to keep my twisted personality in check? Who’s going to pull me back down when I get too high? When the impulses grow too deep?

Who’s going to fill the void and carry me to my white room?

The white room is closed now, locked. Not even bloodied like it used to be. I don’t have access to it anymore, because Kayden has the keys. And Kayden is fighting for his life on a surgeon’s table

For six hours now.

Six hours I spent staring at his blood on my palms until Simone brought me a shirt and told me maybe I should go wash up.

I didn’t want to, but if I stayed there one more minute, I’d barge in there and threaten the doctors to save him. And I don’t think that’s a good idea.

I open my eyes and pause as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I reach a trembling finger to the streak of red on my cheek. From when he last touched me, wiped my cheek before he lost consciousness.

The pads of my fingers burn when touching the dry streaks of blood, and I jerk my hand away, refusing to wipe off his last imprint.

No, itcan’tbe his last.

It won’t be.

I refuse to think he’d just…leave me.

If he does, I’ll follow him.

If he thinks death will make him escape me, he has no idea how far my madness can reach.

I step out of the bathroom, pulling out my phone. It’s time to stop wallowing in desperate scenarios and make myself useful.

My first phone call is to my aunt. She picks up despite the time and assures me that she’ll try everything in her might.

The subject of my second call picks up after a few rings. Vaughn’s groggy voice greets me. “G? It’s three in the fucking morning, man.”

“I need your help.”

“Hold on.” There’s shuffling on his end before I hear footsteps and a door closing. “I’m listening,” he says, his voice now entirely sober.

I stare at the cracks in the hospital tiles, tightening my grip on the phone. “Not sure if you figured it out by now, but we’ve been talking on Reddit.”

He groans. “Did you have to shatter the illusion?”

“Kind of. He’s dying, V.” My voice catches, and I have to bite my lower lip to keep from breaking.

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