Page 69 of My Lovely Tragedy
But there’s so much more that evenInever knew. How I apparently sit in silence for hours, lost inside my own mind with my scribbled lyrics in front of me, pen tapping in obscure patterns. How I bounce my leg whenever I sit—a constant motion that follows me even into sleep.
When I read one of Tobias’s boring, nonfiction books, my eye twitches, and I lean toward the words in concentration. I mumble in my sleep, along with twisting and turning constantly—which explains why I always wake completely wrapped in my blankets and sweating my ass off.
And as my eyes fall, there’s so much more that I can no longer read because my vision is now clouded and blurry. Water drips from my eyelashes, but I still can’t see.
I feel the shift of the knife as Tobias’s chin lifts, exposing his throat to me. I blink rapidly, sniffling and choking back sobs that fill me for reasons I can’t understand.
“If you must.” His voice comes out soft. Reverent. A mere whisper that soothes the stinging, staticky air pulsating between us.Another given opportunity to end it all…
“Y-you’d really let m-me?” I choke out between whimpers. My hand never stops shaking, giving away everything I’m feeling right against his skin.
Tobias nods, sending the point of the blade into his flesh again. I suck in a breath, and I think about retracting my arm, but I don’t. I can’t. More blood wells along the small incision, coating the blade and trickling down his neck in a single, thin rivulet.
His blood is black in the moonlight. Glossy and thick as it sinks below the collar of his dark colored sweater.
He shifts in the chair. It creaks. And then, the pressure builds. More silver disappears into him. A sharp hiss of breath, and then his eyelids flutter closed.
At peace.
I gasp and shove myself backwards, steel chains clacking as they hit the floor. My back hits the couch, soft and solid against me. Tears clog my throat and gurgle in my lungs. My hand sinks into my hair until I meet scalp—and then, I yank, ripping follicles out of my skin.
A scream rips from my throat, loud and burning and untethered. As soon as it cuts off with a weak gasp, I do it again. And again and again until my throat is liquid fire and my breaths rattle.
My body aches, limbs weak but locked tightly into position. The knife still hangs limply in my hand, between throbbing fingers. I lift my head slowly, following the sharp blade until I reach the tip, replaying the moment it sank into Tobias.
His acceptance. Willingness to just let me cut his throat…
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I croak, and the use of my voice brings on another round of sobs. Loneliness washes over me as I huddle and shake andfeel.Alone. “Don’t want to hurt you,” I repeat again—softer. A choked whisper of admission.
I hate you, but I need you. I can’t be alone.
“Then what, Brooklyn? What do you want?” His voice is a tether, and I grasp at it with trembling hands, fingers curling around it with a vice grip.
“I just want to feel something that makes sense!” I scream, and it all bubbles back to the surface. The whiplash is disorienting, and I can’t fucking keep up. I’m suffocating, and everywhere I turn is endless darkness.
“I just… I…” I whimper, then sniffle. In a daze, I bring the blade over the thin skin of my forearm, following the path already carved with an ease I scarcely remember. The sharp sting that follows brings a flash of vibrant color across my darkened skies.
I suck in a breath, eyes flying open in revelation. My chest heaves, a wavering flutter below me. A heavy thud hits the floor, drawing my gaze. Tobias is on his knees before me, hands fisted in his lap. His own chest is heaving in perfect rhythm with mine. Every inhale, every exhale through parted lips, glistening with a sheen of saliva.
He watches me watch him, gazes locked in the vibrant shadows, and I realize his crimson irises match the black blood running down my arm.
My eyes fall to the sharp edge of the blade scraping over my hairs, no longer pressing in. The cut is shallow, nothing like I’ve ever done, but just seeing the split in my skin, the blood welling beneath, desperate for escape… It feels…right.A feeling long since forgotten, right back at the surface, as sharp and clear as I ever remember it being.
The only thing that’s honest is pain.
I follow the singular path as my lifeblood curves around my forearm and drops to the floor in a softplink.A blemish across the wood as it tries to soak into the grain. Leaving my stain.
“Brooklyn…” Tobias’s soft voice pulls my head back, chin lifting, eyes searching. But he’s not looking at me—his own are locked on my arm. On the knife in my other hand and the space between.
Our breaths still match, and I find solace in that as he draws nearer. But I don’t fear his touch; I welcome it—as I always have. I find comfort in Tobias’s skin against mine. The knowledge that he’ll take care of it all is a wash of relief.
The first drag of his finger beneath my chains makes me shiver, gooseflesh raking out and burning their path. He traces the delicate, bruised skin before snaking upwards, over the thick links, to the shallow, careless incision I made behind closed lids.
The blunt tip of his nail digging into the wound makes me hiss, eyes widening as we both watch, entranced. Tobias’s own breathing has picked up, now out of tune with mine, and panic licks around the edges of my vision, darkening my sight before I increase my own, practically panting, so we’re synchronized once more.
His index finger drags back and forth softly, smearing blood over the both of us in a wavering pattern. It stains my hairs, finds a home in every crevice of his skin. Under his nail, around his cuticles.
Another drag over the cut, deeper. Harsher. I suck in a breath, a sharp whistle. Tobias jerks his head up, dark eyes bouncing between mine, but he never eases up. If anything, the pressure increases the longer he stares. Searching for something… and I give himeverything.
