Broken Truths (The Frayed Trilogy 2)

Shutting off the lamp, I slip back into the hall, closing the door silently behind me.

Moving faster through the house than before, I try to get back to my room as quickly as possible, but when I turn down the next hall, someone slams straight into me, sending us both crashing to the ground. Air whooshes out of my lungs as I land on my back, and the letter opener clatters onto the hardwood floor. The person scrambles to get off me, and I’m met with a pair of wild eyes surrounded by a mess of red hair.

A sense of guilt hits me as I realise it’s the same girl who had been on his lap earlier. The one he taunted me with. Any relief at him being with someone else instead of me withers away. Yet if he hadn’t been occupied with someone else, it would likely have been me covered in blood—especially given his temperament earlier.

My heart slams against my ribcage, and the girl stumbles to her feet. She’s completely naked, her body covered in blood.

Oh God, there’s so much blood.

Her hair is matted with blood in some places, while bruises have already formed on her alabaster skin. Blood pools at the corner of her mouth, but it’s the two deep gashes—one across her chest and partly over her breast and one across her stomach. They appear to be the reason for all the blood. The one on her stomach isn’t as deep and has stopped bleeding for the most part, but the one on her chest looks much deeper. The sight of breast tissue in the gaping wound has bile rushing from my stomach, and I tilt sideways as it spills from my mouth onto the floor.

Oh God, what am I going to do?

Her chest rises and falls at a rapid pace, but before I can say anything, she takes off again, barely sparing me a glance.

A door slams somewhere in the house, and heavy steps get closer to me. With my heart still in my throat, I fumble for the letter opener and push myself off the ground before taking off myself.

Leaning against the back of my door, I try to draw in air.

A blood-curdling scream reverberates through the house, and I jump, pressing a hand to my chest, but my breath catches when it meets a sticky residue.

Dark smudges cover my sleep shirt, and I choke on a sob, dropping the letter opener and photograph to the floor. Buttons pop as I rip at the shirt, trying to get it off, and when I’m finally free, I throw it as far away from me as I can, leaving myself in the matching shorts and a bralette.

Heaving rattling breaths, I slide to the floor.

Goosebumps prickle my skin, but I barely feel the cold. Reaching for the letter opener on the floor beside me, I clutch it in my hand once more.

This is the only way.

I move the tip of my finger to the pointy end. It’s sharp enough but not ideal, though with the kitchen so close to the security room, I hadn’t wanted to risk it.

Heavy exhaustion weighs down on me, and the last thread of strength I possess starts to fray.

I can’t lose myself.I can’t.

Pressing the letter opener to the inside of my wrist, I add pressure until my skin starts to break underneath it.

A tear slips from the corner of my eye as I follow the rivulet of blood running down my arm, but then a stream of moonlight breaks through the open curtains. Drawn to the light, my gaze shifts finding the photograph lying on the floor beside me.

Closing my eyes against the image, I try to focus on what I’m doing, but all I can see is him.

Sebastian.

His dark hair and startling blue eyes.

Memories from earlier in the night play out in my mind, and I feel the same pull towards him. A compelling urge to be near him. Whilst it might have been his ocean eyes that captured my attention, the soul behind them drew me in. As I look at the photograph, a sense of safety fills me.If I could just be close to him, I’d be safe.

I can’t help but imagine if I’d been able to speak the words I had desperately wanted to say to him. What it would be like to have his protectiveness directed at me.

I envisage him pulling me away from this torment.

The light inside me flickers, trying to break through as my mind spins stories of things that didn’t happen.

No, no, not now.

My hand falters, and more tears fall.

Blinking my eyes open, I try to push the thoughts away, but they’ve already taken hold. I glance back to the photograph, and a sob breaks free.