Page 38 of Beneath Her Skin

Tears spill down my face, hot and stinging, mixing with the sweat and rain that cling to my skin. And then—another gush. Warmth spreads down my thighs, mingling with the water already pooling around me.

No.

Not now.

The pressure inside me is unbearable.

But the adrenaline is stronger. With everything I have left—every ounce of strength, every last fragment of my will—I push off the railing, using my weight against him. And I shove him down the stairs. His body crashes hard, twisting, tumbling, limbs hitting each step with sickening thuds.

I don’t wait.

I run.

Past him.

Through the door.

Into the woods.

Following the woman in front of me as we become one. The rain pours harder, soaking through my clothes, through my skin, through my soul. My bare feet sink into the mud, the earth pulling me down, trying to swallow me whole. I can barely breathe. My legs scream. My vision blurs. Exhaustion, thirst, pain—they are nothing.

I run.

For my life.

For my freedom.

For my child.

I run like the woman who did everything to not be forgotten, and I see it all. My legs lock up, my body sways to the side as I look at the crimson washing away from my hand, the rain mixingwith it, thinning it, but not erasing it. When I fall, I see him approach.

Rey.

Kneeling in front of me, his face calm and his voice eerily soft. "You shouldn’t have walked away from your vows."

Everything is black, but I can hear him. Feel him.

I relive her death.

What began her curse.

A fire ignites inside me, but I cannot move. I am inside her now.

I feel it.

The first cut.

The tearing of flesh.

The burn as he slices her open, her body arching, her eyes fly open from the pain. The shock. The horror. The moment her body begins to shut down. But there is no crying. No wail. No life.

Just silence.

Just loss.

Sobs rack through her through me as Rey—Fernando shouts above us.

"LOOK AT HER. WORTHLESS." His voice breaks. "EVEN THAT YOU COULDN’T DO!" He shouts as he places the dead infant on the ground, his hands shaking not with grief, but rage. Then he grabs something.

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