I'm sorry I didn't post on Friday or Saturday, I've just been busy. Most likely I won't be posting next week.

This chapter can be very triggering. It explores themes that have already been presented. Please be cautious.

Thank you for your support!

-CL

"I'm sorry, Maxon," I say, my voice cracking. I can feel my hand shaking.

"No!" America screeches, getting out of the bed. She places Annabella on the bed, sleeping.

"Bella, don't!" Maxon commands, his eyes wide. "Don't do this, Bella." He starts walking toward me slowly.

I allow tears to fall down my cheeks. America stands near Maxon, also walking forward. "Bella, don't do this," America begs, frantically looking at the gun pointed at my head. There's more pounding at the door.

I shake my head, silent tears running down my cheeks. "Your Majesty?" I hear Carter call through the door.

Maxon's eyes flicker to the door but then rest again on my face. "We're in here, Carter. Don't open the door yet," he says cautiously. He's still inching toward me, reaching his hand out. His eyes flicker to America, their eyes meeting. Their eyes quickly focus on me again. "Bella just put the gun down. We can talk about this. We can help you."

I shake my head. "I'm beyond help, Maxon," I say ruefully. "You can see that."

"No, Bella. You just need to get help," Maxon says, a few feet in front of me. He tries to grab my arm and I tighten my grip on the trigger. He quickly puts his hand down and steps back.

"Bella, please don't do this," America repeats, stepping closer to me. Maxon steps forward as well, reaching out for my arm. I tense, not sure what they are up to. I feel my arm being moved and pull the trigger. I close my eyes, ready for the pain, but it never comes. I cautiously open my eyes and see Maxon on the floor with a red hole in his shirt. I drop the gun, realizing, in horror, that I just shot Maxon, my husband. My hand flies up to my face, choking back my sob.

I notice America on the ground, trying to staunch the bleeding. The gunshot wound is near…his chest. Oh God, I think. Now you really deserve to die. I look around and find the gun laying a few feet away from me on the floor.

"America," I hear Maxon moan. "Grab the gun. Don't let her get it." My eyes snap over to Maxon, his eyes meeting mine. I inhale sharply and break eye contact, ashamed. I lunge for the gun and reach for the handle, but America swipes it first.

America clicks the safety back on, taking it with her. She runs back to Maxon. "Maxon-" her voice breaks, putting her hands over the gunshot wound and sinking to the ground.

Maxon places his hand on hers. "Ames, I'll be fine. I don't believe she hit anything fatal-" he's cut off by the door slamming open. Carter and Aspen walk in. They catch sight of Maxon and rush over. America refuses to step back, so Carter walks over to me.

Carter reaches out for me, but I shy away. "What happened, Bella? We heard a gunshot." He tries again to pull me to him, but I jump back.

"Stay away from me!" I say, sobbing. "I don't deserve your sympathy!" I push back his outreached hand and flee out the doorway.

"Bella!" I hear Maxon's faint voice. "Carter, get her. Don't let her back in the Queen Suite." I pick up speed, knowing I need to make it back to the Queen Suite. I emerge in the King Suite and rush over to the Queen Suite's door.

"Bella!" I hear Carter call. "Wait! Don't go in there!" I ignore him and whip the door open, slamming it shut. I lock it and notice Officer Grabs still standing in the room. "Officer?" I ask, confused as to why he's still here.

"Ah, Bella. I was worried you were still in here. Officer Xavier and Officer Turner went to help with the rebels," he explains. "I thought you were hiding in here."

"No, I made it to the Royal safe room. Thank you for being so concerned about my safety," I say, skeptical of his intentions. "Please go back to your original post. And make sure the main doors are locked as well." He nods and I walk into the bedroom, then the bathroom, leaving the doors ajar. I look at myself in the mirror, really looking at myself. Looking at a wife who shot her husband. A wife that seems perfect, but is a mess. "Fuck my life," I whisper. I grab a handheld mirror and throw it against the wall, the glass shattering. I sink down to the floor, crying. "Why?" I whisper, looking into the shattered mirror. I see a bigger piece of glass and pick it up. I don't even think-I drag the piece of glass through my arm, making a long line down my forearm. I hiss, but copy it on my other arm. It makes me flashback to when I slit my wrists. This time I'm not aiming to kill-only to hurt. I continue making nicks in my arms, knowing that I deserve the pain.

Once I finish cutting myself, I go and search for sleeping pills. I have had problems with sleeping before, but I only take them once in a while. I find them in the bathroom closet. I open the bottle and see enough pills to kill me. I glance at myself in the mirror, realizing what life has come to. I walk to the counter and inspect my face. I think about how my life has come to this, how I've changed in the last year. I realize I've made myself look like this beautiful, put-together queen, but that's not who I really am. I'm a mess and I deserve to die after all I've done. I look into the bottle and pour the pills out. I take all of them without hesitating, swallowing them one by one. I throw the bottle on the counter and lie on the ground. I feel the blood from my cuts dripping. My eyes become heavy and I let the darkness take me one last time.