Page 54 of Pastel Kisses

Panic slams into me at first, primal and sharp. She’s snapped. Lost it. I’ve pushed her too far.

But then—clarity.

No. This is exactly what I wanted.

I still.

I let my limbs go slack, my mouth parting slightly as if surrendering the last of my breath. My eyes roll just enough to blur, and I stare blankly through the haze of water at her distorted face above. I twitch—once, twice—then nothing.

I go limp.

My arms float aimlessly at my sides, and for a moment, everything goes quiet in my mind.

Then it happens.

She realizes.

Her fingers release with a panicked jerk, splashing water everywhere as she scrambles backward, nearly slipping on the slick floor. Her breaths come in frantic gasps, eyes wide and wild with horror as she stares down at me like she just watched her world unravel.

She hadn’t planned to kill me. Not yet.

Not while I’m still pregnant.

Not while she still needs the baby.

Her hands rise to her tangled hair, fingers weaving through in a tangled mess of panic as she paces beside the tub, muttering to herself in disjointed phrases, murmuring over and over like a prayer—or a curse.

She bolts—absolutely panics—and runs from the room like the devil himself is chasing her.

And just like that... it’s my moment.

The moment I’ve prayed for, begged for, imagined a thousand times. The moment I’ve waitedmonthsfor.

But I’m also seconds from drowning.

I burst from the water, dragging in a breath so sharp it burns—but I somehow keep it quiet, controlled, like survival depends on it, because it quite literally does. My lungs seize, a sharp burn flooding my chest as air finally fills my lungs. I don't even take the time to relish it. My ears strain for any sign of her footsteps, and I crouch low in the water, careful not to make a sound.

She's lost it—completely.

From the hallway, her hysterical voice echoes, bouncing off the cold walls like a horror film on repeat. “She’s dead! Fuck, she’s dead! What’d I do? Fuck. Fuck! What am I going to do? The baby. The baby!”

The panic in her voice is my confirmation—she’s distracted. Genuinely losing her grip, which means I need to move fast.

I reach for the oversized T-shirt she brought earlier and tug it over my head, skipping the undergarments. There’s no time. Every second counts.

My body trembles with adrenaline—part fear, part fury—as I scan the room for anything that could serve as a weapon.

And there it is. Sitting pretty on the counter like it’s been waiting for me all along.

The black metal bar.

My not-so-secret nemesis. Her favorite tool for breaking me down piece by piece. But today? Today, it becomesmine.

I wrap my fingers around the handle, surprised again by how light it is compared to the damage it can inflict. A twisted, dark smile tugs at my lips as I lift it. Fitting, poetic, and just the right kind of deadly.

You brought this into my life, Sarah,I think as my grip tightens.Let’s see how you like it now.

The water sloshes softly as I step out of the tub, wincing when the cool air seeps into the raw ring around my ankle. But I don't stop. Pain is irrelevant right now.

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