Page 69 of Obliterated
No… No. No. No.No!
Not yet, not now. It’s too soon. Too soon, too soon,too soon!
She can’t change, she can’t turn. She’smine.
She’s Tass.Myfucking Tass. Loyal, fierce, as stubborn as they fucking come. Survived against all odds, the longest-living carrier on this godsdamn island. The one who threw stones at Watchers when we were kids, who threw herself at fights she had no business winning, who laughed like the world owed her everything.
Not anymore.
A sound between a sob and a scream rips out of me when she claws at my arms, nails sinking deep, shredding skin. The same nails she used to paint stupid colors whenever she dug up some crusty old bottle of polish that somehow survived decades of ruin.
And I let her claw. I fucking let her bite.
It’s not courage. It’s not mercy. It’s a stupid, savage hole where denial lives. I don’t push her off because pushing her off would be admitting the thing I promised never to admit.
That she’s lost.
I hold her because holding her is the last honest thing I can do: keep her close, feel that she is still warm, still cursed with the shape of us.
My arms are locked around her, crushing her to me. She thrashes, Walker-strong, but I hold tighter. She’s under my palms, braid coming loose in places; the weight of her body, the animal panic, presses against my ribs like a living thing trying to get out.
She can’t claw anymore, only bite. And she does. She fucking does.
Teeth sink into my neck, tearing, ripping, but the pain there isnothingcompared to the cavern in my chest.
Tears burn hot down my face. I can’t remember the last time I cried. Maybe I never did. But now I can’t stop. My body shakes with it as I cling to her, as if I can chain her here by sheer force, as if my arms can keep her mine.
I weep for the orphans we once were.
I weep for the stupid dares, for the nights we spent laughing on roofs while the red clouds hid the stars.
I weep for every promise I ever made and the one I am about to keep.
Haveto keep.
“I promised,” I rasp into her hair, voice shredded, choking on blood and smoke. “I fucking promised not to let you live like this.”
She still feels like Tass. She still fucking smells like Tass.
But she isn’t. Not anymore.
“I love you, my friend,” I whisper into her hair. Words I’ve never said out loud because I knew they’d burn if I did.
And burn, they fucking do.
“See you on the other side. Wait for me there, okay? We’ll haunt the afterlife together.”
The request tastes like ash.
My hand finds the dagger at my belt like it’s always meant to. The motion is automatic, muscle memory carved from too many times doing this to strangers. I know exactly where to place it, the spot that ends it quick, clean, merciful.
Only, it’s not a stranger in my arms.
She thrashes, teeth tearing at my neck, but I ignore the pain, hold her tighter, press my cheek against hers one last time. Her breath is a wet rasp; my tears streak across her skin, mixing with hers… or maybe it’s my fucking blood, I can’t fucking tell anymore.
The world narrows to the handle in my palm, the ragged sound she makes, the beat of my own heart like a drum in my ears.
My blade finds the soft spot against her skull.
