Chapter 3

Everything still smelled like her. An empty pizza box remained on the floor from our last sleepover. Her red t-shirt was tucked haphazardly into my nightstand drawer, half in and half out of it. A sock peeked out from underneath my bed, too colorful to be mine. I was sure that if I checked my pillowcase there would be dark hairs on it. I was covered in her, every inch of me stained.

I felt her die. I paced back and forth. The cinder block walls had never felt smaller or my heartbeat so fast. If I closed my eyes, I could see it happening again. The pain. So much pain. The absolute agony as my/her skin was shredded, the warmth of my/her blood spilling onto the cool cave floor. She had felt nothing but pain in the end.

I scratched at my skin, desperate to stop feeling the ghost of Strigoi hands on me. The scent of rotting flesh and blood filled my nostrils, fueling more scratching. I needed it to stop. I needed it to stop. I would do whatever it took to make it stop.

I wondered if this was how Anna felt when Saint Vladimir died. Why she committed suicide. Did she feel the same feeling I did now? Even if he slipped away in his sleep, she still would have felt his death. Felt the emptiness that came after. Life without a bondmate. A curse. Forced to walk the Earth with only half of my soul.

Who was I without her? Some small piece of what used to be whole? Humpty-Dumpty shattered in a million pieces. Nobody could put me back together again. Not even Christian.

I reached out to touch my own cuts, running my fingers through my blood. Rose would be so disappointed in me. She had wrapped my ugly cuts in soft bandages last time she had seen them, given me her sweatshirt so nobody would see. I had to find bandages.

I pushed the door open into the adjoining bathroom, reaching above the sink to the medicine cabinet. I pushed aside the pain medications and the tampons, scrunchies and bobby pins raining down onto the bathroom floor. No bandages. I emptied everything out onto the counter, pushing aside the hair straightener and the eyelash curler to make more room.

A bottle of black mascara fell out, rolling across the counter into the empty sink. Rose's mascara. I threw it as hard as I could into the shower. I didn't want to see it ever again. Slamming the cabinet shut, I dropped to my knees and reached into the cabinet under the sink. Bags of makeup, tubes of lip gloss, and rolls of toilet paper stacked into meticulous pyramids. Rose had always teased me about how neat I kept the toilet paper stacked.

Screaming in frustration, I slammed the cabinet shut and stood up, noticing myself in the mirror for the first time.

My funeral dress was torn, the pretty cap sleeve dangling precariously by a few threads. There was blood in my pale hair, sticking matted clumps together. I must have pulled some chunks out without realizing it when the bond broke. The blood on my wrists had smudged all over my dress, the counter, and the wall somehow. Rolls of toilet paper, Q-tips, and scrunchies littered the counter and the floor. I put my hand over my heart as if that would steady it somehow, but instead all I could think about was that Rose's heart wasn't beating anymore. Little gasping wheezes filled the too-small bathroom, so loud that there wasn't enough space for me anymore.

Without thinking about it, I grabbed the hair straightener I had haphazardly pushed off the counter and swung it into the mirror. I was rewarded with a crunch and the rain of glass shards, filling the empty sink. At least I didn't have to look at myself anymore.

I was a murderer. I was a monster. I had taken a life. I wasn't Father Andrew, but I had been to church long enough to know there was no taking this back. No salvation left for my soul that Rose had shattered into a million pieces.

I picked up a glass shard and studied it, careful to keep my face out of the reflection. I had two options left. One was bad, and the other infinitely worse. Squeezing the shard, I enjoyed the warm sting of pain. I needed it to stay grounded. To decide what happens now.

The magic needed to stop, I thought as I watched blood drip steadily into the sink. I tried not to notice how the drops looked like Ralf's blood. I tried not to think about the fact that Ralf was still face-down out front. Trying to stop those thoughts, however, was like trying to stop a moving train. It was only a matter of time before I did this to someone else.

I swore quietly and let the piece drop into the sink. Rose wouldn't want this for me. She wouldn't want me to bleed out into the bathroom sink. She'd want me to stay alive. She'd want me to be happy. I could only think of one way to stay alive and turn off the magic for good.

Turning off the bathroom light, I exchanged my shoes for a sturdier pair and pulled on a jacket, using the hood to cover my face. I would need protection and anonymity. I made sure to lock the door behind me, slipping the key under the cheerful welcome mat. Where I was going, there would be no return.