I Would Kill For You

27. The Sacrifice

"Don't think about that, Bel. You need to rest."

"Mom. Please. I won't be able to rest until I know. Is she okay?"

She squeezed my hand tightly, chewing on her lower lip, as if she was mustering the necessary strength to talk. When she faced me, small droplets were falling down her cheeks.

"She's in a better place now, dear."

I groaned lamentably, covering my mouth with my palm to keep me from wailing. My mother watched me with trembling lips and a pained look.

"How?" I muttered through muffled sobs. 

"She...she drowned herself. In the lake."

Seven years. Seven years of friendship, seven years of laughter, seven years of memories and unforgettable moments. And all it took me to lose her was one day. 

Yes, she had hurt me, she had made me afraid for my own life. She could have killed me, but she didn't. She was mentally ill, and yet she defeated her demons. She decided that I deserved to live. She was stronger than her mental disorder. But I wasn't there for her. I wasn't there for her when she needed me most; I was so bewitched by my love for Damian, that I didn't even notice that my best friend was hurting this much. I didn't even notice that there was something wrong with my friend. I could have saved her, if I hadn't been so self-absorbed and selfish. 

I burst into tears, and for the first time in years, I finally allowed myself to break down.

***

The second time I woke up, the sun was gone. The light was dim in the room. I didn't remember going to sleep. I supposed the nurse who was taking care of me must have slipped some tranquillizers in my IV bag, which delivered them directly into my veins. The ache in my heart hadn't minimized at all. If anything, it was even more overwhelming now. 

I wasn't alone. 

I jumped slightly, noticing the person near me. He was holding my hand lightly, his head resting on the mattress, next to my waist. He was on his knees by my bed, and his breath was regular and peaceful. I parted my lips, wondering if I should say something. He didn't seem to be sleeping, despite his relaxed posture. Just seeing him made me tear up. I fought back my tears, frustrated with myself. I had become so weak, so fragile, and I hated it. Without thinking twice, I ran my fingers through his hair gently. It was soft and pleasant at touch, just like I remembered.

 I felt him stir slightly. He pushed his upper body up, propping himself on his elbows on the bed. Our eyes met and he smiled lovingly, squashing my heart just like that, because I knew this was the last time he'd look at me this way. Like I was the light of his universe. Like I was the only thing that mattered. 

It was the last time I'd allow myself to get lost in his black, bottomless hues; to trace the contours of his flawless, sharp features with my fingers. He kissed the inside of my palm, sending hot ripples of affection throughout my body. He was really wearing the same clothes as he did on New Year's Eve, but his light blue shirt was now rumpled, his sleeve stained with blood. 

He didn't have to say anything. His mere presence was soothing; his adoring sight on my face healed all of my wounds. So I was the first one to talk:

"I need you to promise me something."

He understood by my solemn tone that something was wrong. He gulped, looking up at me anxiously. It was the first time I saw him this stressed, this unnerved. He was always so collected and aloof.