Page 98 of Dance with Death

I stare up at my shadowed reflection in the mirror and see a dead girl staring back at me.

This is it.

This is how I will die.

And the only regret I have is not falling in love with Ezra sooner, faster, from the moment I saw him and felt that immediate spark of awareness that he and I were in some special way connected.

Soul mates.

Meant to be.

Made for each other.

I love him, even though he’s failed me.

I hold no blame for the fact that he couldn’t save me. It was an ill-fated promise he made, and I’d known it from the start.

And to think he’s here tonight, perhaps with a plan, hoping for a chance to reveal itself to him so he can take me away from this place. But I think we both knew the only way I was leaving was by death.

I hope he knows that I tried my best to stay alive for him.

Vigo whistles a tune that would sound cheerful under normal circumstances but is haunting in its joviality now. The roar of the water as it spills into the tub mingles with the eerie tune, wrapping around my fear and choking it into panic.

I scream one last time, loud and long, with all the anger my soul possesses for what the universe has done to me.

But still, the water rises.

This is the end of everything.

Vigo waits until the tub is practically overflowing to turn off the faucet, and as soon as he does, he’s gone.

I think I might try to wedge the heel of my stiletto beneath the drain stop, maybe lift it enough to get the water to drain out. But then I realize I can’t. The drain is internal, activated by a small metal lever that I can’t reach from inside the tub.

“Shit!”

Shifting my body, I unintentionally roll sideways. My muscles are weak, and I struggle to keep my face above the surface. As my cheek dips into the water, my body jerks, thrashing until I’m facing up again. A wave rolls through the tub, pulsing against the side and returning, though some of the water spills out at the gap near my feet.

Maybe I can splash out enough water to give myself some space to breathe without straining every muscle in my body to stay afloat. I thrash some more, trying to get as much water from my porcelain coffin as I can.

It takes less than a minute of battering my body against the water before I’m forced to stop.

My body is weak.

I feel truthfully and completely drained now.

I slip under the surface in my exhaustion, barely able to bring myself back up again. I can’t stay afloat. And even when I can hold myself above the surface, the mirror reminds me of what’s beneath, showing me a reflection of my watery grave.

Vigo knew my strength was gone.

He’d been preparing me for this particular torture, withholding nourishment, exercise, the basic things a human needs to stay alive, to survive. He knew I might not survive this.

I’m not going to survive this.

Oh, God…I’m not going to survive.

I quickly shift from a slow growing panic into outright madness. I flail in the water, fling my arms and legs, let myself drift beneath the surface to whip the water with my body, hoping to spill as much water over the edge as I can.

The barrier Vigo crafted is rudimentary, so of course, it isn’t a water-tight seal. Still, it’s proving to be effective enough because the water stays with me. The waves I create with my whipping body just hit my reflection in the mirror above me and crash back down to smother me again from above.

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