Page 39 of Bonepetal
The place smells like home. Like candles and spices.
In the mirror by the door, I look feral—raccoon-eyed, hair knotted with leaves, a smear of wax glinting like frost across my collarbone.
The bruises at my wrists jump out, obscene.
The cut in my palm isn’t bleeding anymore. It’s sealed into a raised, angry red line. I can’t stop seeing the knife and the way he bled—black, like death itself ran in his veins.
It shouldn’t look this healed. Not this fast.
I flex my hand, frown, and then actually laugh at myself.
My ex-boyfriend crawled out of a grave and I’m obsessing over wound-healing speed.
Priorities, Salem.
I head for the shower, hoping it will feel like a reset.
The first hit of water makes me flinch so hard I bang my elbow on the tile. It isn’t even that hot; it justfeelslike it. The wax softens right away and slides off in cloudy strings, pooling at the drain until it looks clogged with little white ghosts. I brace my hands on the wall and let the water pound until my breathing matches it.
Steam fills the room. I keep thinking someone’s behind the curtain.
Every time I look, it’s empty. The tether hums anyway, through the scar in my palm, around the bruises on my wrists, in the spot at my neck where he put his mouth.
His words loop—“you’re mine… hell won’t keep me… death is a door I know how to pick.Bonepetal.”
I hate how my body answers to it.
“Enough,” I tell the water.
It doesn’t listen.
I scrub until the wax is gone and the smoke smell gives up to cheap citrus shampoo. The bruises bloom darker, from dull purple to near-black. When I run soap over my palm, the tether yanks tight, sharp, and electric. I hiss, leaning my forehead on my arm, and wait it out.
That metal taste floods my mouth again.
I swallow it and keep going.
When I’m done, I step out.
The mirror’s still fogged; fine by me. I wrap a towel, grab my phone—more messages. Miles again, and one from Jamie
Jamie
u ok?
I settle onhomeand hit send.
The phone rings immediately. I almost let it go, then answer.
“You’re alive,” Miles says. “You okay?”
“I’m okay.” Lie. “Sorry I disappeared.”
“What’s going on with Nathan? I’ve been trying to?—”
“I don’t care where he is,” I cut in. “He was cheating on me.”
Silence. Then a sharp exhale. “You’re kidding. Okay. Are you okay? Do you want me to come over?”
