Page 125 of Sardonic Burn

“Shoot, Hudson.”

Her words reach me, but I hesitate. That’s all she needs. A tear slides down her cheek. Her bottom lip quivers. Dylan tightens his grip on her hair, and Noelle uses the opportunity to slide her head to the side, the blade piercing through her throat.

Blood starts gushing out immediately, and her eyes close.

My gun fires, and Dylan falls behind her in screams.

I’ll never forget this scene.

I’ll never forget the moment Noelle lost all will to live.

“I’m so sorry, Hudson.”

I’m by her side in record time, holding her head in my lap. Her eyes are closed, and the blood doesn’t stop coming out. I tear my shirt and press it to the wound, my hands shaking. Her body is already cold because of the water, and I can’t feel her pulse. The scene of her lifeless body laying in my hands makes it feel as if I’m being killed over and over again, but death isn’t coming.

“Noelle, baby, please open your eyes,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

And it doesn’t fucking reach her. Her body is limp in my arms, and I hug her tightly. My body is shaking, and I can’t comprehend what the fuck just happened. Her blood coats me and no matter how hard I try to press on her wound, no matter how hard I call out her name, she doesn’t respond.

She remains lying in my arms, pale as a ghost, unmoving.

THIRTY-THREE

Not once did I think this would happen.

Not once did it ever cross my mind that she would go that far.

I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve recognized the look in her eyes. She was… tired. She was exhausted. All the fighting, all the killing, and all the competition to prove that she’s on top—it exhausted her mind and soul. She knew that I’d save her. She knew that I was going to shoot him.

But she still chose to slit her throat against that blade.

The empty look, the dead eyes—it’s all I see whenever I look at her.

Noelle is alive.

But Noelle is also dead.

She’s in the hospital.

The wounds on her face aren’t severe. The shades of purple and blue started fading, and the doctors said her face would go back to normal with minimal scarring. Her throat, however, is still wrapped in gauze and wound dressings. It’s tied around her neck.

The worst was when they took off her clothes. Her chest and legs were covered in burn marks. There was barely an inch of skin that wasn’t burned. And they think it came from being electrocuted.

The motherfucker electrocuted her. He fucking tortured her. And I wasn’t there to prevent it from happening. I didn’t get to her in time.

It’s been two weeks.

And for the past two weeks, Noelle hasn’t been the same.

Her nurses tend to her like she’s the queen, yet she doesn’t even spare them a glance. She’s constantly looking out of the window, the dull look in her eyes still there. She’s in a trance and doesn’t want to get herself out of it.

More often than not, she doesn’t even realize that someone is in the room with her. She’s barely blinking, and they have to feed her and give her water, otherwise she doesn’t take it by herself.

A psychiatrist visits her four times a week. It’s the best one in the country. He says to be patient with her because she’s suffered through enough trauma to keep a person scarred for the rest of their lives. It’s PTSD.

Noelle shut herself off completely.

The only time I leave her side is when she’s asleep. I place a monitor in her room and the moment she wakes up, I’m right back next to her. I hold her hand, brush her hair, and talk to her.

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