Page 47 of Love Me

“Kaden,” Abigail says, voice ringing with urgency.

All three shoot up from their seats, looking at him with panicked expressions.

“Don’t worry, I can take him with my eyes closed.”

“Do that. I fucking dare you to do that.” He snaps his head toward Abigail, Bailey, and Blake. The girls make a wall of worry while Blake assesses the situation. “All of you fucking leave already. Now.”

A few seconds pass before they listen, sending disapproving glances at us.

When we’re alone, we smile at each other with teeth bared. I tilt my head.

“Honey, I never asked. Do you like knives?”

I yank open the closest drawer and throw two knives at him while he ducks. Before he can grab my hand, I elude his grasp and disappear into the living room.

Jumping on the couch, I goad him. His groans of frustration mix with my hysterical laughter, creating a disturbed soundtrack as we both give in to madness. Hopping down, I run in circles. He’s right behind me, but I am faster. Spotting a vase, I kick it at his face, but he deflects it with the back of his hand. Shards fly in every direction the moment it hits the floor.

We blink at each other, but we can’t look away. That’s the thing with carnage. You just can’t stop watching it.

He sprints and catches my feet as I turn to run. I faceplant on the carpet. Fuck, my poor cheek.

Squeezing his fingers around my neck, he grits out. “Do you like to play hard, honey?”

I glare at him while a thought crystalizes in my head. Nothing will ever cure me of my hurt. Whatever I do, it’s impossible to outrun or beat it as if this hurt is interwoven with my fabric. Yet if I stop fighting, then it would end up killing me.

“Let’s see how you get out of this one. Tap the fuck out.”

It’s a sad moment to witness what has become of us, as if I have stepped into an alternate future. In this one, we’re not meant to be.

I close my eyes. When I open them, the second of hesitancy on his part is all I need to free myself from his grip.

Rolling out from under him, I stand up. Our chests heave, the fight still in me. But I see his fading.

He bends and picks up the knife. For a second, I stop breathing, but he grabs my hand and places it in my palm. He drags me to him by the back of my neck. I watch the knife in my grip, the sharp tip pointed at him; I watch his despondent face. There’s no flicker in his eyes. If I do that, I will die as well.

Tears spill down my cheeks. A bone-deep agony strangles my heart.

“Do it.”

He reaches behind his neck, pulls off his long-sleeved shirt, and throws it to the side. He slaps his chest.

“Fucking do it, Celine. Carve my heart out.”

“What heart? The one that was supposed to be mine?”

“It’s still fucking yours.”

He takes the knife from my hand and starts slashing at his chest. Rivulets of red stream down his torso as he writes my name on his chest. I remain still, incapable of moving while I watch, transfixed. Then he takes my wrist and places my palm on his chest.

“Why would you do that?”

“You want my blood? Take it all. Drain me.”

“Oh my god,” says Abigail, drawing our attention to the doorway where our friends have returned.

Yes, that sums it up perfectly.

When Kaden leaves with Blake on his tail, Bailey drops on the couch, and Abigail picks up the knife.

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