The knife fascinated me. The steel of the blade caught the light coming in from the window and it almost… glittered… in a surreal way. I knew it wasn't logical, but all I wanted was to feel something—that's it. So, for once, I didn't allow the screaming logic of my mind guide my decision; I allowed my emotional needs to drive me. I needed to know that I wasn't like Lauren. I could feel; I would feel. So I dragged the blade across my skin, and I felt something.
I finally felt something. I felt the pain. Then, finally, the logical side of my brain broke through the abnormal amount of emotion, and I knew that I was feeling too much. I knew that, at the rate the blood was flowing from my body, I would be dead soon, but it wouldn't be painless. I knew that was ok—it was exactly how I wanted it. I was feeling something—I was proving that I could feel something. Most of all though, I knew that I would die here alone—just like Lauren—and I knew that I didn't mean to go that far. I heard a pounding on my door. Through the pain, I wondered who would be coming to see me at this time of night. I wasn't the type of woman to invite any man to call on me at this time of night; I wasn't the kind of professional who would accept late night calls from co-workers; I wasn't the kind of person who had friends outside of my professional circle, besides Booth… and Booth hadn't been by for midnight Thai food in over a year… he was never around anymore. I knew he didn't love me anymore—he had told me so quite candidly—but I am not sure that he even likes me now. He hates me, and I deserve it. I deserve to die here alone.
But the bounding still doesn't stop. The rhythm of a fist hitting the door becomes the same as the pounding of the pain. I have to make it stop—it has to stop.
"Come in," I heard a weak voice say. It didn't sound like me, but it must have been. There was no one else here. The pounding stops and for a moment, the pain recedes with it. It only takes another moment for it to come back again worse than before.
"Bones, why aren't you answering your phone?" It was Booth, and he sounded angry. In the back of my mind, I wondered why he was here. He unknowingly answers my thoughts. "We have a case and…" He trailed off when he saw me. His eyes fill with panic and fear. "Bones!" he yelled. "What happened? Are you okay? Was someone here? Who was it?"
The rapid fire of his questions confused her and caused her already fuzzy head to swim. The pain was reaching its peak and she knew that the end was near.
"I'm fine Booth," she whispered, though she knew it wasn't true. It was her job to make sure that she was always ok—no matter what. "No one was here, I just… I wanted to feel something. I wanted to prove that I'm not like her. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do this, I promise," I paused to get a breath. I could feel myself slipping out of consciousness, "I promise I didn't mean to go this far, but it all works out for the best." I took one more deep breath to assure him, a devout Catholic, that this hadn't been on purpose. "I didn't mean to go this far." Then everything went black.