Page 177 of Where Broken Wings Fly

Katie scoffs in disappointment. “You’re a bitter old woman, clutching at excuses. You’ve betrayed me. I should have been the first to know that Willow had come home.”

“Enough! Stop it, both of you!”

I’m hunched over, my hands on my shuddering knees as my vision begins to blacken from lack of air. Lola tries to speak, but I find the strength to cut her off.

“Get out,” I hiss. “Now.”

“Willow, please—”

“I said get out! Right now!”

Katie looks at me with such raw longing, such intense grief, it nearly knocks me over. I refuse to budge, pointing towards the front door. She shakes her head and leaves.

“Willow,” Lola begins.

“No. You too.”

“But—”

“Go!” I scream at her.

Appearing shaken, Lola follows in Katie’s footsteps. When the door slams shut behind them, I let myself crumble. An awful sob tears at my throat. I know I won’t be left alone for much longer.

Run.

I have to run.

Bolting for the bathroom, I slam the door behind me and lock it, searching for a hiding place. I just want to feel safe again. Crawling into the bathtub, I curl up with my knees to my chest, letting the tears finally come.

A never ending river of regret and pain chokes me in the silence. I’ve never felt so alone. I found my family after all this time, but it’s too late. The damage has been done. Katie was right—we can never get those lost years back.

“Willow? Where are you?”

Slamming my hands over my ears, I curl up even tighter. I want to be left in peace. It was easier to survive when it was just Arianna and me. The two of us against the world.

Before I cared too much.

Before I let people get close.

Before I opened myself up to pain.

I’ve never had control over my life. How do I take it back? How do I make everything stop hurting so much? I’ll never belong. Not really. This was all a futile dream.

Next to my bottle of shower gel, I spot the razor I used to shave my legs this morning. A tiny, whispered voice calls out to me in sinister slithers. I haven’t heard it for a long time.

Take control, Willow.

I don’t know what I’m doing until the razor is in my hands. Smashing the cheap plastic against the side of the tub, it frees the two sharp blades inside. I don’t think about what I’m doing. Thinking is bad. Unnecessary.

I need everything to stop. All the pain. All the confusion. All the heartache and indecision about our future. Even if it’s only for a moment. Pain used to focus me, strengthen my determination. It paved the way for our escape.

Drawing my thumb along the sharp blade, I watch the blood rise to the surface. It’s beautiful, the rush of air that pierces my lungs with each drop that falls. Mr Sanchez isn’t hurting me anymore. Now, I’m in charge. I’m hurting myself.

Biting my lip, I dig the blade into my wrist next, slicing it with a strangled cry. I need to breathe. Relief. Anything. Pressing deeper, I dig it into my arm and sob even harder. Crimson splashes on the polished tiles surrounding me.

“Willow!” Killian booms. “Open this door, right now.”

The blade falls from my trembling hand, hitting the floor of the tub. Hammering on the bathroom door sends me spiralling further. All I can hear is Mr Sanchez’s voice promising punishment if I continue to hide and deny him what he wants.

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