Page 58 of Dance with Death

I rise to sit on the edge of the bed where he’s left me. I feel a certain sense of satisfaction in that final look he’s given me. It was a look of confusion, frustration, morbid curiosity.

He knew death was on my mind.

I breathe deeply and weigh my survival on a scale of truth.

Am I so certain that no one can save me? Yes.

Will ending my life take the pain away? Yes.

How horribly will Ezra mourn my loss when he hears about it? Terribly, but then he can focus on saving himself.

Tears well at the thought of what this will do to him, but I know he’ll be better off when I’m no longer a concern. Though the thought of leaving him permanently feels like a dagger to my gut, I know I want this.

I want death.

I want this horror story to end.

The affirmation in my mind brings me a strange sort of calm—the peace of knowing that I’ve made a decision, right or wrong.

Break the mirror.

Cut your wrists.

Be done before he returns.

If I act now, it can all be over soon. I would no longer feel the pain of loving and losing the only person who made me feel truly alive. Seeing him tonight only reminded me of how dead I already am on the inside—I died three months ago when we were ripped apart.

There is no rescue, no salvation for us. Only crippling heartache and tormenting longing.

My hands grip the bed at my sides as I look into the mirror. My breaths quicken as I envision my macabre plan. In my mind, I can see the glass shattering, breaking into a thousand pieces and spilling to the floor. I envision picking up a piece of my own broken reflection and sliding it across my wrists.

A shiver crawls up my spine and I close my eyes. Immediately I feel like I’m underwater again, looking up at Vigo through waves and ripples as my temporarily paralyzed body slumps deeper beneath the surface.

I gasp as my eyes snap open.

I can’t go through that, not again.

Never again.

I bend and take off my shoes. I leave one where it rests on the floor and pick up the other as I stand. I move in front of the mirror and stare at my reflection.

Am I the same girl I was with Nikolai?

Am I the same girl Ezra fell in love with?

Somewhere inside I think I’m that same girl, but my strength has been stripped from me in Vigo’s ownership. I know I would’ve died a long time ago had I been with Vigo from the beginning…If it had been Vigo who had served as my benefactor since the age of eleven…If Vigo had been the one to steal me away over three years ago.

It was all a cruel joke of fate. It was by chance that Nikolai found me in that dance studio when I was a child. It was by chance that he picked me. It could have been anyone else, but fate had chosen me, and it had been breaking me into smaller and smaller pieces ever since. Ezra had managed to put some of them back together for a while, but seeing him tonight just reminded me of how impossible a task that is. It broke me all over again.

I’m not the same girl I used to be. The girl I am now is so desperate for freedom that she’s willing to do whatever it takes to get it the only way she knows how.

I hammer hard against the mirror with the stiletto point of my shoe. It cracks, splintering across the reflective glass. Though no pieces have fallen to the floor yet, it effectively shatters my reflection.

I don’t even want to see my reflection anymore.

I slam my shoe again, hitting the same spot I hit before, and a few small pieces above it fall to the floor. I hit again, farther down the mirror, and the entire top half falls with a whoosh to the floor. I jump back as the sharp edges pool on the floor beside my feet.

I lower to my knees slowly, eyes searching the remnants for a suitable sliver. Light reflects off a triangular piece on the floor and I reach for it. I’m careful, shaking off the tiny, dusty shambles that rained down over it like glass snowfall.

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