If your heart is broken, make art with the pieces

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Harry looks like he just saw the end of the world.

I stand and stagger away from him, the limp, drained body slipping from my hands. I don't look down to see her glassy eyes staring at me. I don't swallow the last mouthful of blood.

He shakes his head. "This is too far. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."

The bond between us snaps. Just like that, Harry's broken the most powerful connection in the world and I'm spinning out of control.

I don't linger to beg him to take it—take me—back. I've been through this before. The quicker I can walk away, the quicker I'll break and then it will all be over. The guilt and shame over what I've done is nothing compared to that cold stone expression on his face—that disapproval turned towards me, instead of the whole world—and there's nothing I can do to warm him again.

I've lost him.

I've lost him.

I don't feel the pavement beneath my feet. Instead, the ever-growing distance between us tugs at my skin like stretched rubber. I fight through it, even though I'm desperate for a way back to him, and burst through to the other side.

The pressure around my chest drops. I spit out that mouthful of blood, wetting the pavement, and wipe my lips on the back of my arm.

I've lost him.

I throw my head back and gasp, dragging useless breath after useless breath into my dead lungs. No Harry.

I groan, thinking I'm going to scream, but movement in a carpark to my right snaps me out of it. No Harry. Just some late-night clubbers who've taken a wrong turn.

I wipe my face again and stride towards the sound, ears picking up on three different heartbeats. Fury rips through me and I grab the closest person, vision hazy with grief.

No Harry.

I tear into this person's neck and leave them to bleed. Their friends scream and start to run, but they move like the air is saltwater. I sweep my arms around them both, holding them still.

I make a mess.

I'm not feeding.

I've already done that, and it cost me Harry.

I have three more bodies at my feet and they're all leaking blood. I have no Harry, no purpose, and no way out of this.

I pile the bodies together, making it clear this was intentional. Moving them spreads the blood and it glistens in the moonlight, wet and warm against dusty concrete. It's like fresh paint.

The rage leaves me like a cloud of dust, and I lean against a car to stare at the chaos. The bodies are all arched towards the sky, surrounded by a thick pool.

Footsteps.

I crouch into the shadows and watch as Harry appears, breaking my heart all over again with his long strides. He freezes, considering the mess, and the air between us quivers.

Across the bodies, he sees me.

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