Page 68 of Isle of Pain

Her forehead drops to mine. “Il sangue non è acqua.”

Blood is thicker than water.

I know she means it as a vow. I repeat it, just for her. She nods and helps me up. We pick up a sleeping Ember and an hour later, I check myself into the Nightingale Rehab Centre.

37

NICO

THEY’RE DESTINED TO LEAVE ME, AND I, TO FAIL THEM

“Marie,” I yell her name as I push the door to my cabin open.

It’s eerily silent. Empty. Void of her.

But the information isn’t registering in my brain.

The door of her bedroom rebounds against the wall when I enter. Even though we never go to what used to be my bedroom, I collapse against the wooden door. Still no traces of her. The bathroom is quiet and still. I stomp to my workshop, my cotton tee-shirt clinging to my skin where sweat gathers under the fabric. The fresh wound at my shoulder oozes blood and thumps with the erratic rhythm of my heart.

Dread fills my veins faster than any drug, but I forge on.

The lock and chains to the barn are undisturbed but denial is a possessive force. I take the key from my pocket and slide the door open. Switching on all the lights, the mirrors in the workroom reflect my fear right back at me. And nothing else.

“Nico,” a voice calls behind me. I recognise it but I don’t turn, lost to the demons taking hold of my rational thoughts. Myfingers erratically tap on my legs. My tongue flicks my piercing back and forth but my usual self-soothing tactics aren’t fucking working.

“Nico,” the voice calls out again, louder this time.

Giulia stands at the threshold of the room, a little bundle in her arms. I stalk to her but she takes a step back, her hand in front of her and Andrea appearing at her side like he could protect her if I really wanted to hurt her and take what’s mine. I ball my fists to the point of pain, the indent of my nails welling blood on their way inside my skin.

“Give me my daughter,” I order my sister-in-law in a voice I don’t recognise.

“You need to calm down first.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down when Marie’s gone! Give me my daughter.” I enunciate each word as if that will sway her but she’s the fierce protector, nothing like the soft woman she can be with me. I can’t even admire it as unease creeps up my skin and a pathetic sound escapes my lips. “Please, give her to me.”

“Nico.” My name sounds like it hurts. “I can’t do that right now,” Giulia says.

“Do you think I would hurt her?”

“No, of course not. But I want to tell you where Marie is and when I do, I don’t know how you’ll react. Ember is my responsibility and my priority right now.”

I bring my hands to my short hair and pull at the roots, closing my eyes and trying to ignore the call for blood that has my temples throbbing. “What does that mean?”

“It means Marie gave me custody of Ember for the time being. While she recovers. I need you to do what you have to do to come down from this state you’re in. Then I can tell you where she is, and give you Ember.”

It’s reasonable. Logical. I know it is but I still can’t process her words. All I want is red to consume everything around me. I need pain. Inflicting it and all over my skin.

“Leave,” I finally say.

They both hesitate but after a minute, they turn their back on me, closing the door to the workroom. In the absence of a prey to skin and mutilate, I take a blank canvas. On the palette I mix shades of red and white. Then I take a knife in my tool display and slash my arm. Crimson bleeds on my skin and I shiver at the sensation. But I don’t try to quell the blood from flowing.

And I paint. With my bare hands.

I’ve never used colour before but the red soothes me. The texture under my fingers is squishy and foreign. I hate every second of it, the wetness on my hands and the burning chemical scent in my nose mixed with the copper of blood. It’s a punishment I can take for being so careless.

I fill three canvases with images of Marie. The lines are rough, the edges coarse. Textures create valleys of paint where I usually leave it all flat. The three dimensional paintings make me sick but the images I create give me purpose. It’s all messed up in my head and I yell into the void of the room as I continue my ritual-punishment.

When I look up again, the sun is rising outside. I’ve been here for five hours, without sleep or food or water. My body cries for all of it, but I refuse to give in. Sustenance is wasted on me. I failed her like I failed my father. This time by my absence. She left because she knew I couldn’t do what I promised. And she lied. Told me all I wanted to hear and left anyway.

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