Blood covers my knuckles, but there’s no sharp sting of pain.
I lift both hands in front of my face. Crimson drips from my palm to the tiled floor. Little red dots grow bigger and bigger.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I should stop it, but neither the ghost nor I have the will to. I may as well bleed to death.
Death...
Is it a bad idea to die?
I can be in a better place. Somewhere where it doesn’t hurt this much. Somewhere where I won’t watch this pathetic ghost take over my life. Somewhere where my heart will stop bleeding. I’m already on the edge. Might as well give myself the last push.
More than anything, I want out.
The bathtub I filled earlier calls for me in a bewitching pull. I grab a shattered piece of glass and sit in the tepid water. It’s cold, but doesn’t freeze me. The sharp glass is digging into my palm, but it doesn’t cause pain.
My thoughts, just like my senses, dissipate. Nothing but a need to leave exists.
The grey walls fade into the background. The cold water isn’t so cold anymore.
Someone’s bloodied hand holds the glass to my wrist and slices through it. My heart pounds fast. It kicks in once, twice...
Blood flows. I can see it; Red. I can smell it; rusty. I can feel it surrounding me; Thick. I can hear it; Slow. I can taste it; metallic. But I can’t register any pain. No emotions. No thoughts. Nothing.
Overwhelming darkness envelops me from every side, pouring over my skin like a blanket. It’s the first time I don’t mind it. On the contrary, I welcome it. Embrace it. The shadows I once loathed surround me and sing me a litt
le lullaby. It’s like that void between reality and sleep. The little moment before one loses themselves.
Blood keeps pouring out of my body. Water turns into a deep shade of red. My loud heartbeat fades away to emptiness.
I close my eyes.
This is it. Easy. Calm. Peaceful.
It’s like floating, allowing the darkness to drift me away.
I take my last breath and stumble into nothingness.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aaron
The quiet of the night is interrupted by a bang coming out of my bedroom.
I sprint towards it.
The bed is empty. Mae isn’t where I left her. I swallow the clog restricting my throat.
“Mae?” I call, heading to the bathroom. Each step is heavier than the precedent. I learnt to always trust my intuition, and right now, a terrible one is clouding my mind.
Cold sweat covers my hand when I turn the doorknob. “Mae, are you—”
I freeze at the doorway. There’s no oxygen in the room. No matter how many gulps of air I take, I still can’t breathe.
A pool of blood.
Mae’s blood. And she’s inside it. One hand with a bloodied piece of glass on the edge of the bathtub. Her head grotesquely lolled to her shoulder. Eyes closed, her overly pale skin is surrounded by the oxygenated red from every side.