Vendetta (21 page)

"The Coun
cil will
not
agree to this, Seth. She's too important to let go."

"Then I'll find another way."

T
WENTY-FIVE

I sink deeper into the bathtub, letting the water envelope me, but I don't feel it. I don't
feel anything. I wait for the vanilla-scented soap to reach my nose. But it doesn't. The heat of the water to warm the blood in my veins as it turns my skin pink. Nothing.

Images flit through my mind like some out of control film flapping on its reel to t
he very end. The battle to end all battles taking place in my nightmares. Murders. Accidents. Viola will punish everyone I've ever helped.

And then she will come for me.

I step out of the tub, dry off, and then dress, slipping an old tank top over my hea
d. My wet hair drips to the floor, collecting in puddles at my feet. The hollow ache in my gut persists. It's consuming, filling me, but leaving me empty at the same time. What you can't feel shouldn't hurt. But it does. All of it.

My throat stings as I sw
allow the lump jammed in the back. I just want to feel. I want to feel . . . something. Anything.

A razor glints in the vanity lights, shining, luring me toward it.

It can help you. It can help you feel again. 

I study it, watching.

It's not permanent.

I
t's not permanent. I just need to know that I'm alive and that this isn't some horrifying, never-ending nightmare I can never wake from. I reach for it, fingers tingling. And it's almost like someone else moving for me.

My head goes
light as I drag the blade across my wrist, cutting diagonally into the skin. I press deeper, and at first there's nothing. And I'm afraid. I'm afraid I've failed again. But then . . . the sting of pain. Teardrops of blood trickling down my hand, past my fi
ngertips. And it's like a release. The torture trapped inside freed from my body. I turn my hand over and cup my palm, collecting it, then spread my fingers, letting it drip into the basin. Splattering against the snow-white porcelain.

My eyes drift close
d and I'm lost in another world. Another lifetime. And I'm lying in a field of crocuses, the lilac petals fanning into a deep, righteous purple. The sky a clear blue and rays of sunlight caressing my face, warming my skin. A blanket of cool grass beneath m
y body.

I am at peace. Calm.

And there's Seth, lying beside me, gentle eyes alight with curiosity. He brushes a hand across my pale forehead, sweeping the summer-kissed hair off my face. My name whispered on his lips.

It's Heaven. A heaven I desperately
want.

My head swirls and I'm falling, becoming that girl in my dreams.

Because her world—everything in it—it's perfect.
She's
perfect. And there is nothing left for me anywhere but here.

My head throbs, the raw pain stretching through my body. I hear my
name, someone calling me. Seth's eyes are sober now as he shakes me, desperate to wake me. My eyelids flutter, and I try to tell him to stop. To let me sleep.

Anguish registers in each of his features. The furrowed brows, knitted in concern. Tightened li
ps.

"Genesis!"

A tear slips from her eyes, running down her face. My face. Because our heaven is disappearing, fading, shimmering to nothing.

He pulls me into his lap.

"Genesis, please," he begs. His voice is rough with tears and I feel again. I feel mis
erable for making an angel cry.

I wasn't . . . I wasn't trying to. . . .

"Why would you . . . ? How could you do this to me?" His voice rises with every aching word. The suffering draws me back to him, and I'm lying on the bathroom floor. There are no flow
ers, and my head aches just behind my ear. I brush my fingers over the tenderness, already swelling. And in the hollow a dull grief pervades, this blinding sorrow for everything I've lost.  

"I can't," I whisper.

Seth is moving, rustling. Water gushes fr
om the faucet, splashing into the basin. The sound reverberates, echoing off the walls. And a cool, wet rag is placed around my wrist. It pricks my skin, like hundreds of tiny needles, and Seth binds it with his fingers, pressing tightly. He lifts my wrist
high above my head and holds it there, suspended between us.  

"I feel so . . . empty."

He draws me into him, gently kissing my temple. My eyes. My tears. Until his warm lips are wet with them, and I don't know if they're his or mine anymore.

"It's Viol
a," he says, words breaking in his throat. "She's screwing with your head."

"I can't do this anymore."

"You're stronger than she is, Genesis. Don't let her do this to you!"

I don't believe him. I'm not stronger than her. I am mesmerized by her. Her power.
Her cunning execution of these events, knowing it would bring me to this one, harrowing moment. On my knees. Begging to die. It's over. She wins.   

"I'm all alone."

"You're not alone," he whispers, speaking quickly. "I'm here. I'm not going to leave you
."

But I don't believe him.

*
             
*
             
*

When the bleeding stops, Seth wraps my wrist in a tight bandage. He carries me to the bedroom, holding me close, and I let him because I haven't the strength to refuse. My
head falls against the pillow, hair still damp. He tucks the comforter around me and lies down, wrapping my fingers in his. And we are still, my eyes heavy, breaths light and rhythmic. But sleep refuses to come. And so I picture that field and its wildflow
ers. The butterflies skittering from crocus to crocus, sunlight dancing on the tips of their wings.  

The bed rustles, and Seth's fingers separate from mine. But instead of pulling him back to me, clinging to him, I let go. His footsteps pad lightly acros
s the carpet, clothes whispering as he sinks to the floor, unable to help, unwilling to leave.

I'm safely hidden, veiled by tall blades of grass, when I hear voices.

"Is she okay?" Carter asks, speaking low, trying not to wake me.

"I don't know. I can't
tell anymore." Seth's words are anxious. Sick with fear and worry, and my heart hurts listening to him, because I know it's because of me. This is my fault. I've made him feel this way.

Carter moves into the room. I hear him settle onto the carpet, leaning
against the wall, sitting beside Seth. And the two of them are together. Connected. Here because of me. Watching as I pretend to sleep.

"What's going to happen?" he finally asks.

"I don't know," Seth replies. "But she can't stay here."

"What does that me
an?"

"She's getting worse. And I don't know what to do." His voice is strained, cracking beneath the weight of the words.

"You really love her," Carter says after a few, quiet moments.

"She's everything to me. And you have no idea what it feels like to kn
ow I've failed her in the most unbelievable way imaginable—in every way imaginable."

"She doesn't blame you," Carter assures him. "She would never blame you for any of this."

"She
should
blame me."

"But she doesn't. I've seen the way she looks at you." A t
erse laugh. "Jesus. I'd
kill
to have her look at me that way."

I smile at this on the inside, because it's all so darkly amusing. Carter
would
kill because he loves me, Seth
killed
because he loves me.

How can anyone possibly think I'm worth this? Any of
this. Because I'm not. It's not. 

A heavy silence settles between them. When he speaks again, Carter's voice is quieter, barely a whisper. "I'm sorry," he says. "For hitting you, I mean. That was probably uncalled for."

"I would've done the same thing we
re the roles reversed. And not that it didn't hurt, but it couldn't possibly make me feel any worse than I already did—than I already do," he corrects. 

More silence.

"I need to know if I can trust you with something, Carter. It has little to do with me.
Except my peace of mind, maybe."

"What is it?"

"It's about her."

Me.

"Okay."

"I'm the first to admit I was never really a fan of yours. And I know you don't like me very much, either."

Carter laughs weakly.

"But it's obvious you care about her."
Seth exhales loudly. "The thing is . . . there may come a time when I might not be here for her. And you have . . . no idea how much that's going to kill me. If that happens, she'll still be guarded, but I want you to step in for me. I want you to watch ov
er her. Take care of her. If, for some reason, I'm gone—no matter what happens—I need to know you'll do everything you can to help her."

"What's happening?" Carter asks, voice low, full of unease.

"I don't know," Seth replies. "The rules don't apply anymor
e, not to this. But I need to know that I can depend on you."

The silence lengthens between them, and I feel myself drifting until Carter speaks again. "You know, I would've done it whether you wanted me to or not."

"I know." There's a tiny smile hidden in
Seth's voice, for this boy who loves me almost as much as he does. For what it means that if there were ever to come a someday, someone else would have to step in and take his place. That this boy, who has never been good enough for me, might one day be a
ll I have left.

T
WENTY-SIX

I twist open the blinds and the midday sun spills into the room. Beyond the trees and shrubs and vibrant bursts of flowers, Carter's pool shimmers, cool and inviting. A swim might not be so bad.

It will take my mind off
. . . everything.

The bandage wrapped around my wrist is rust-stained and stiff. I cautiously unwind it, revealing the crisscrossed stripes of crimson. The cuts aren't deep, but dangerously close to something more permanent. Both the disappointment and th
e relief at this battle one another, until a knock on the door interrupts my thoughts, and relief prevails.

"It's open." I crumple the bandage and tuck my hand behind my back, hiding it from view—hiding
them
—these careless divides that will scar my arm fo
rever.

Seth steps into the room, guarded, and I feel his probing gaze assessing everything that is me. Silence hovers, lingering as I work to collect the erratic words racing through my mind, a thousand different ways to say I'm sorry.  

"Are you hungry?
I can fix you something," he finally says.

I glance over at him and his eyes catch mine. They're striking, both empty and terribly moving at the same time, sad, even as he works to keep his expression composed. Level. They're not my angel's eyes.

"Cereal
's fine." My voice barely makes it past my lips, throat rough with past tears, still dry and full of sleep.

"You do know it's after lunch."

I nod.

He hovers in the doorway, and watching him I'm able to isolate that heartrending air about him. It screams di
sappointment. In me. In what I've done. My heartbeat quickens as he turns to leave. I follow him, moving swiftly as he heads toward the kitchen, a million reasons why
I shouldn't have
suspended between us, only one that really matters.

"Look," I begin, as
he rifles through the cabinet, shifting and rearranging half-empty boxes. "About last night. I didn't mean . . ."

But he doesn't let me finish. In a few, quick strides he's practically standing on top of me, voice low, but distinct: "Don't
ever
do that to
me again." I recoil, surprised, the faintest shiver reacting to his dark tone, the icy words as they creep across my skin. "Do you have
any
idea . . . ?" Anger lengthens every word. "Do you know what it was like to find you like that? To
see
you like that
?"

"I—I'm sorry," I manage. But the words fall flat between us. Disingenuous. Worthless. 

Seth gives a short, hard laugh. "You think
sorry
is enough?" He rakes his fingers through his hair, the edge in his eyes cutting straight through me. "
It's like . . .
torture
, trying to watch over you. To protect you. And now I can't even keep you safe from
yourself?
"