"Pain doesn't tell you when you ought to stop.
Pain is the little voice in your head that tries to hold you back
because it knows if you continue, you will change.
Don't let it stop you from being who you can be.
Exhaustion tells you when you ought to stop.
You only reach your limit when you can go no further."
~ Kobe Bryant ~
***
"Weak."
Is it possible to hurt so much that your heart just... gives up?
"Weak."
Like lightning shattering the night.
Like a gunshot through her brain.
There's an absolute still moment where nothing in the universe moves.
His word hangs there, like a particle in the air. Like the skeleton of a fallen leaf dropping down thickly, silently, until finally...it reaches its course.
And suddenly, the atmosphere seeps with some kind of potent accelerant, and everything around Salem starts pulsing, following the wild rhythm of her heart. The buzz in her brain loses its volume control and changes from white noise to cacophonous stadium-cheers.
It's an explosion of thunder and winds, swirling, whistling, and blowing all of her thoughts away.
Listening to the roar kicking up in her head, Salem is deaf to any other sound as the echoes of his voice emerge in her mind, and his word is mysteriously multiplied.
"Weak."
Two kinds of pain collide in her soul, tearing her apart.
There is the first. A foreign one that takes her a few seconds to identify.
It's the bond between them crying in agony.
Icy fingers twisting around her intestines, turning and tangling and yanking. Nothing but blood, pain, fire, and ice. Her hand rises, clutching at her left breast, trying to alleviate the ache, as her throat closes up, suffocating her.
The closed cage of her ribs holds on tightly to the pain wracking her heart.
It is a strangely poetic representation of the last few days - in the most heartbreaking way possible - to press the pain of a broken bone against an invisible open wound in her chest.
It changes nothing.
The pain swallows her whole.
It rushes through her veins and makes her blood boil and chill at the same time, her shoulders tensing to protect herself against the word that feels like a physical blow. Until finally, the throbbing ache settles into the marrow of her bones.
It is a small death, violent and agonizing.
And then, there is the after effect.
The pain of someone stabbing her with a knife on her back without killing her. It is not supposed to end her, it is just a knife that stays.
A soreness that marks her.
A wound that doesn't bleed but makes Salem feel raw.
Like a reminder that someone that was supposed to matter put her through this agony... through this betrayal.
Two different sorts of pain, but where the first one hurts, the second one destroys slowly. It cuts deeper.
What is the saying?
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me"?
What a stupid stupid thing to say...
Sticks and stones break only skins, while words are ghosts that haunt her. Words leave a scar on a much tender flesh than the skin. They leave the imprint of their pain on the mind and carve their way into the heart.
Salem has been broken and bruised before.
She has been left on the floor like a discarded rag in a bath of her own blood. She has heard every insult, every slurred word, every demeaning, degrading thing that can be conjured by the human'mouth.
But she doesn't remember it ever hurt like this before.
This is not going to break you, don't you dare let him break you.
You've heard worse, Salem.
Why would it break you now...
She swallows convulsively, trying to push back the sobs bucking in her throat and the tears clouding her eyes. It hurts... Dios mío, it hurts, but she refuses to cry.
Anger and self-loathing burn through her veins, plain and brutal, making her hands shake with her fury. Salem is as livid and hurt by Godric's word as she is disappointed and furious with herself.
First, she begs, and now...this.
What did she think? How could she be so stupid?
Who would ever want her? Who would ever love her?
Romance is not for someone like her.
Passion is not for this inexperienced little girl with someone else's hate carved into her broken body and bruised skin, and with fear covering the walls of her shattered heart.
Dijiste que nunca volvería a suceder. ("You said it would never happen again.)
You promised yourself!
For fuck's sake...she knew it was coming! She knew all of this was just a pile of bullshit destined to hurt her.
She knew it the moment she opened her eyes.
She knew it when what seemed to be the most beautiful and equally dangerous man she ever met turned into a mythical creature in front of her.
She knew it when she heard Vasili's tale, and she definitely knew it when Godric didn't let her go even though that was the only thing she asked.
She didn't ask to never see him again, no! She asked for time. For a chance to figure it out, to think, and... and because it was a chance for her to see if he was going to respect her. A chance to see if whatever there was between them (it would be pretty stupid at this point to pretend there is nothing) could be between equals, something where she would be respected.
AH!
Fucking stupid and pathetic...You're only proving Him right.
So...for the life of her, she can't figure out why she still feels like that.
How dare she be disappointed after all she went through?
Why does she feel... betrayed?
Maybe it's the bond.
Maybe it's because, if she is really honest with herself, a small, tiny part of her heart - that she had refused to acknowledge until now - had hoped for more.
Maybe it-
"Well, of course, she is...I could see that! Meek, and quite ugly, not that I could see her that clearly... hiding behind all that hair. But honestly," she huffs, "what else would you expect from a human, my King? I don't understand how you expect her to fulfil your needs..."
Haughty and grating on her nerves, the voice pierces through the storm in her head, and Salem inhales sharply, blocking her respiration so she can focus on the sounds and feelings coming from the room.
Disgust. Hate. Greed. Jealousy. Longing. Disappointment. Regret.
Battling against her own emotions, she is too distressed to be able to distinguish between the woman's feelings and Godric's. But they hit her at the same time.
Another masculine grunt follows, accompanied again by the sound of glass slamming on a hard surface and liquid being poured into it.
It seems to be the only answer needed for the woman to continue her hateful diatribe. And, in a way Salem is thankful... She doesn't want to go through the pain of hearing Godric talk again.
Not if his words are as sharp, hurtful, and deadly as the last one he uttered.
"You know, my King, you did not need to take a pet... I am always ready to satisfy your needs. That human... she is never going to be enough."
"You're not good enough, Salem. You'll never be good enough. Do you actually think someone will come for you? Think someone will want you? "
I am going to puke...
The woman's words have the same effect as her lust. They are slimy, gliding across Salem's skin, making her feel dirty and violated.
Urgently, she squashes away the possessive feelings and jealousy boiling in her veins.
Some part of her registers them though, the bond between her and Godric is positively thrashing around and revolting at the idea of this unknown woman touching what was said to be hers, but the other part of her stays logical.
The truth is that Godric doesn't owe her anything.
Yes, she is pretty sure this bond is real, it is impossible to deny what she can do and feel since she met him, but pretty words are just empty promises, and Salem has only ever been able to believe and rely on actions.
"Jävla äckligt, Vasili hade rätt, det här är ett misstag ("Fucking disgusting, Vasili was right, this is a mistake")... Of course, she isn't going to be enough. As for your offer, Tanya, it depends on what you are offering... and on how good you do this job for me," his voice drags the words in a silky croon that pierces her heart.
For a painful second, Salem allows the sob to buck out of her throat, drowning herself in the heartbreak that mares her soul and the sorrow glistening down her cheeks, leaking in heavy droplets from her eyes.
Every agonizing throb of her heart, every hateful thought bruises her a little bit more as Salem lashes herself with all her pain.
His lies seep under her skin, burning her pores, his words reverberating in her mind like a bad echo.
"Weak."
"You are mine, made for me. You were born to be mine."
"Weak."
"Did you give him what is mine? Did you let him touch you?"
"Weak."
"You are not supposed to be like this."
"Weak."
"My mate, my Queen."
"Weak."
"Why are you afraid of me? I will never hurt you!"
"Weak."
"You're not working anymore."
"Weak."
"Weak."
"Wea-" FUCK YOU!
Her silent scream reverberates so loud in her ears that Salem wonders if she didn't say it out loud.
Fuck that!
On second thoughts, that's exactly what she needs... to fill her lungs with as much air as possible and then scream her frustration, her hurt, her sorrows away.
She felt it coming earlier, she felt it growing stronger and stronger, crawling under her skin and itching to get out.
And it is finally happening.
She is sand, and the crystal sheltering her is craking.
Little breaches connecting together, ready to shatter and watch her fall apart.
But not now.
Soon.
Just a little bit more.
I can do this...
I can do this...
Because the truth is that-
It's ok.
Really, it is.
It's fine.
Because... this... This is familiar.
The hot and cold, the confusion, the lingering hidden hope, the changes of behaviour, the foreign sense of safety, and then the fear with each mood swings... it's a territory she doesn't control. Something she doesn't know and scares her more than the rest.
But this... the ache settling in every inch of her body, the disappointment, the physical pain, the repercussions, and torture of his words.
This, she knows.
This, she can deal with.
Still standing on the threshold of the office, behind that closed door where she can hear the hum and rumbling of voices, Salem searches in her for her safe place.
For her switch.
For that little concealed steel chest in a dark corner of her heart where she used to hide every part of her soul.
Every hope, every feeling, everything that made her...her.
Finding it...it's as easy as breathing.
Closing her eyes and bowing her head down to her chest, Salem inhales slowly, letting her lungs fill until they burn, holding the fire in her chest for a few seconds, and finally releasing the air and her pain with a deep exhale.
Tears simmered by her heart and leaking from her soul race down her cheeks for the last time.
The cool splatter of liquid on her cheeks make her sigh, and she rubs her sleeves under her eyes, vanishing any physical proof of her heartache.
Keeping her eyes close, she gathers her strength and closes off the emotions that are like a beacon for anyone to read, locking them deep inside.
And just like that, she is numb again.
The little hope cradled in her soul and kept hidden from her heart slithers away, like water between her fingers, and she let it go, like everything else.
There is no more anger, no more pain, no more disappointment.
The coldness is taking over as she locks everything safely inside, and Salem can't help the sorrowful bitter smile that lifts the corner of her mouth.
This mask of indifference, her expression blank, cold and empty...that was how she managed to win a little bit against him.
And this is how she is going to win against Godric.
Because there are no more "what ifs," no more asking nicely, no more requests for her freedom, even if she can't exactly step out the front door... There are still too many werewolves in the house and probably outside acting as bodyguards (or jailors as far as I am concerned)...
Still, it doesn't matter.
She's getting the fuck out of here, one way or another.
Steeling her nerves, she swallows back her pain, buries her soul, shelters her heart and steps forwards, her hand wrapping around the doorknob.
You can do it.
Vamonos ("Let's go.")
She doesn't tear down the door in her anger, but she doesn't knock either, and when she steps into the room, it takes her eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dim lights.
When they finally do, and Salem can see again, she knows the scene laid out in front of her would have pierced her battered heart if his words hadn't already killed it.
Lounging on a chair, elbows propped behind him on the desk, legs splayed out open in front of him with the same cocksure masculine confidence he displayed in the morning, one of his hand wrapped around a tall glass filled with honey-coloured liquid, Godric's eyes snap open, locking with hers.
The lamp behind him lits his face, projecting a red and golden hue on his sharp features, and she can read on his face the moment the daze swirling in his eyes clears, and he really sees her, registering her presence in the room.
Horror, desperation, regret slam into her, as long as a flurry of panicked thoughts that she doesn't understand.
"Mislead," "Cover," "Pretend," resound in her head, and still, Salem's face stays blank.
A granite mask of indifference devoid of any emotions.
Not saying a word, she refuses to react in any way. Instead, she just secures the lock of the steeled chest in her heart and reaches into her bond with Godric.
Frantically refusing to let him access her emotions, she squeezes it with her mental fingers, keeping it close on her side.
Cocking her head to the left, her eyes do a lazy circuit of his face, noticing the way his eyes dilate with the same usual longing, need, and ...is that fear? And when the panic seems to lock his muscles in place, Salem pushes forward, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind her, her eyes leaving his frozen form and focusing on the woman he called Tanya.
Much as she hates to admit it, the girl is beautiful.
There is no need to deny it.
The fact that this woman is being vindictive and insulting doesn't mean she isn't absolutely gorgeous. She also seems to be the exact opposite of Salem herself, and while a few hours ago, that fact would have hurt her and confirmed her doubts that she couldn't possibly ever be what Godric dreamt of... it just doesn't seem to matter to her anymore.
Tall, lithe, pale skin and long legs that go on for miles crossed in front of her, exposing her thighs, Tanya is sitting on the desk, leaning forward, her slender hand reaching for Godric's chest, black manicured nails trying to catch the front of his shirt and caress his muscles.
Short blond pixie haircut, sharply defined features, and sparkling green eyes that swim with lust and greed.
Seemingly registering Godric's lack of attention, she looks up, not having heard herself the door opening or Salem stepping into the office.
Anger and contempt lit up her eyes and Salem can almost taste the bitter emotions on the tip of her tongue.
The silence only lasts a couple of seconds.
Salem stands there, still wearing Godric's sweatpant and his long-sleeved shirt that hide every inch of her skin and every curve she possesses, in front of what seems to be a freaking top model and the Viking Lycan King...
Fuck, it sounds like a cliché scene in a movie.
I look like a drowned rat.
Where the fuck is my happy ending?
Finally shaking off her shock, the woman jumps down the desk, long thin legs carrying her across the room and in front of Salem in a flash. "What the fuck? Who do you think you are? This is a private meeting; you're not allowed in here."
Salem doesn't move back, refusing to cower in front of the stranger. In this emotional state, she can't be afraid again, there is just no space for any emotions, and after all, she is not here to make a fuss or to throw a tantrum.
Not here to claim anything or defend herself against the words she heard.
No.
She is here to do what she should have done hours, if not days ago (seriously, still have no fucking idea how long I have been here) when she woke up in a foreign room covered in blood.
And after that, she will leave them alone.
Godric can have this woman if that is what he wants, but before that, Salem will get what she needs too.
Tilting her head up to look the girl in the eyes, she can't help but feel a little bit smug when Tanya's anger rises. The blond seems absolutely furious that her words have no effects on Salem.
"This won't take long, you can continue whatever you were doing after this, I won't bother any of you again. I just have a few things I wish to say to Godric," Salem dismisses her, smiling politely and rejoicing in the pic of rage coming from the girl. Her tentative confidence has nothing to do with anger, but everything to do with the goal Salem has set for herself.
Home.
Home.
Away.
Alone, please, alone.
"Go-" the woman chokes on the word, sputtering with indignation, her arms flailing around dramatically. "How dare you say his name? How dare you disrespect him like that?"
"I'm sorry, but I have no interest in listening to anything you have to say about me. You do not know me, I do not know you, and I don't intend to. As I said, I just want a few minutes alone with Godric, and then he can carry on with his...activities with you," Salem continues, her eyes darting to the side and locking with Godric.
The Viking flinches in dismay and shakes his head objecting and rejecting her words, disgust and panic rolling from him as he rises slowly.
The atmosphere in the room is so intense, and her pulse is flickering so fast in her throat that for a few seconds, Salem gets lightheaded, and, in front of her, it almost seems like Godric is swaying on the spot.
Oblivious to the tension and anxiety leaking from the rising Lycan behind her, the woman circles Salem, short locks of golden hair swinging around her cheeks and a disgusted look marring her features, " I can't understand how... Are you so confident in your place, human, that you would disrespect him? Do you have any idea what my King can do, little girl? Well, Pet, answer me! Don't you know the rules by now? Calling him by his name, tsk tsk... Do you actually want him to break the other one," she taunts, pointing a perfectly manicured finger to the broken wrist Salem cradles against her chest.
"I can take her punishment off your hand, my King," she offers with a flick of her hand, never turning her eyes away from Salem's form and not realizing the way Godric goes still. "She is also disrespecting me, after all."
Ok, time's up.
I want to go home and crawl under my blanket, so let's cut this shit off right now.
Lady, you're pissing me off.
"And how dare you talk to me like that," she continues her rant, "I'll have you know my position is highly important in our World. Women of powers like me are rare, and for a human to come and dismiss me... Why really I have never felt so so-
"Jealous," Salem interrupts her.
"Wha-"
Salem cocks her head to the side, grabbing the link between her and the girl. Tanya is not a wolf, that is certain, but something in her is linked to the Packs, and by extension...to her.
Her mental fingers capture the faint bond she can feel and yank on it.
Hard.
In front of her, the woman stumbles, her face twisting and her eyebrows pinching together, confused by the foreign pain and discomfort.
"Fury. Greed. Contempt. Lust. Jealousy. Greed again. Hate. Envy," Salem drawls out her words, naming every emotion she felt from the girl before she even stepped into the room and all the new ones flickering with each new word.
I am a goddamn mood ring.
Like her words hurled a rock through a window, the girl's composure and emotions shatter in all the directions, and the atmosphere seems to explode with tension.
Tanya staggers back, her cocky confidence disappearing, colours draining from her pale face, making her look green. "No... This is impossible! You can't be our.... his... NO!"
Fury and hatred disfigure her once beautiful face.
Murder, and carefully planned torture written in her eyes.
She takes two steps in Salem's direction, fuming and sneering, only to stop dead in her track when a vicious terrifying growl silences her.
Godric steps forward, his chest moving behind Tanya's back, never touching her.
The hand that does not hold the glass wraps around her short blond hair, yanking and forcing the woman to tilt her head backwards.
"Take your foul words away from her. You do not look at her. You do not talk to her. You do not come near her. I do not care that you are female, Slyna ("bitch"). Gender does not make a difference to Lycans, not when it comes to it being a threat... Leave before I crush your fragile little bones to dust for even thinking of hurting her," he snarls, leaning over her to flash his teeth in a vicious sneer that promises vengeance.
The woman stumbles back as soon as he let go of her hair, her eyes avoiding his face and looking down in a visible sign of submission even when her body tenses and Salem can feel her trying to resist and rebel.
A wave of -electricity? Pressure? What is that?- washes over her and Godric chuckles darkly.
A low mocking sound that makes Tanya flinch.
"Do you think your magic will save you from me, witch?" he asks, his own aura overpowering the room, making the woman pale as she staggers back.
With a last hateful glare at Salem, she storms away from the room, running in the hallway and stairs, the door slamming behind her.
Godric's posture changes immediately.
The power running on his skin and suffocating the room recedes, and his growl cease.
"Min Skatt," he pleads, taking a step forward.
Salem doesn't answer.
She waits for the silence outside the room to settle.
For the loud footsteps on the stairs to end as the girl storms away, taking with her the disgusting sensation of her emotions running on her skin.
Only when she can hear nothing apart from the wind and the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the windows does she lifts her head and turn to face him.
When their eyes meet finally, Godric flinches, startled.
The dead light in her eyes terrifies him, and his head snaps up fully to her, surveying her form, alarmed, concerned, and panicked.
She can almost feel the squeeze of his mental fingers on her soul, probing their bond, and trying to sense her emotions.
Trepidation and horror flash from him when her mind and heart remain blank to his touch.
He stumbles back from the void that he finds, a hand moving to his chest to press against the pain she knows is there.
She can hear his frantic thoughts, his desperate attempts to reach for her and feel her, and-
"Salem?" he calls out for her again, hesitant, ocean eyes pleading for a reaction.
"I am leaving," Salem states calmly.
"Wh...what? No, you can't," he shakes his head, rejecting her words immediately.
His anxiety hits her all at once.
Worry of seeing her disappear from his sight, of losing her indefinitely... But none of that matters.
Not even the fact that he pushed the woman away, because he still said those words and it's just... She wishes she could explain to everyone asking her to be patient when he isn't, how much she is drowning, and exploding inside, but it's....it's just too much.
The continuous stream of his previous words and empty promises has not stopped in Salem's head, along with the fatigue and memory of the pain she is blocking, so she repeats her sentence again.
"I said I am leaving. That is not a question anymore, and certainly not a request-"
"No."
"I am not giving you a choice when you haven't offered me one. So, I am leaving," she shrugs like it isn't a big deal.
Like she isn't praying for the pain to end.
Like she isn't shaking and shattering from the inside, and waiting to be alone so she can fall apart.
"This has obviously been a mistake."
"No, no. Stop, min skatt..."
"I can't drive a car with my wrist in this state, but Lukas can drive me back home-"
Perhaps, had she not been so angry, hurt, or closed off, she would have registered the way his body starts shaking, and his fists tighten. She would have noticed the ways his eyes flicker madly, blue desperately trying to overpower the silver ring that is taking over.
Perhaps she would have realized that she didn't imagine him swaying on his spot a few minutes ago. She would have also noticed the three empty bottles of whiskey on the desk, and the half-emptied drink in his hand, glass cracking under the pressure of his fingers.
As it is, she does not.
Nor does she register the fact that he is stepping forward.
She does, however, notice when the glass explodes in his hand.
The scent of alcohol fills the air, droplets of liquid flying around them, dropping on the floor, and soaking up the rug.
He lunges forward and jerks to a halt in front of her so abruptly that his hair whip around his cheeks, obscuring his face, and his body quivers, like a living arrow hitting its mark.
The movement is so abrupt that Salem falters in her stance, and she can't help the gasp that escapes her mouth, her next words dying in her throat, unspoken.
A muscle jump in his jaw, fine tremors on his body turning into quakes, muscles quivering like live wires.
Like something is crawling under his skin, itching to get out.
"Nej, " he rasps in a velvet bass voice that seems to slither up her body, a loud growl erupting from his chest, a dark sound that chills her to the bones.
It's an instant dose of pure adrenaline injected directly into the pumping muscle in her chest.
Salem jumps back, inhaling sharply, her heart taking on a wild rhythm that hurts, her pulse beating so fast in her throat and ears that everything around her seems to accelerate and blur at the same time.
And when she gasps, her body starts to tremble as her lungs fill with air that smells familiar.
Air that smells like...
Whiskey.
No.
No!
NO! NO! NO! NO!
At the sound of her movement, (or maybe he hears my heart breaking), Godric's head snaps up, his eyes instantly seeking hers through the curtain of his hair.
Arctic eyes open to bore into teary gold and Salem's heart seize in her chest.
There is nothing remotely human in his eyes.
No more comforting ocean.
No more familiar waves.
Not even a storm.
Just black eyes filled with enraged lambent silver.
Cold and dark.
Lupine.
Lycan.
Time has no meaning as it slips by, watching him approach. Her lungs aching as she holds her breath, the stench of alcohol making her dizzy.
Memories like shadows playing in front of her eyes, her nose burning from the sharp scent of alcohol soaking the carpet underneath their feet.
"Stop," she calls out for him, futilely trying to scoot away from the wall and escape him.
He doesn't listen.
Actually, she isn't sure he even heard her.
He continues his liquid slink, eyes focused on her.
Predatory. Hungry. Possessive.
His presence is intoxicating, the same tantalizing scent wraps around her, and when a long finger drag along her cheek to push a curl away, the touch of his skin on hers causes an explosion in her senses.
He is kerosene, the match and the fire all at once, and despite all her protests, her treacherous body shudders, fire racing through her veins.
The soft rumble that usually soothes her wraps around her, but instead of comfort, Salem's dread peaks.
His mind is a jumbled mess of incoherent thoughts and primal instincts, but one word is repeated over and over in Swedish.
She doesn't understand it at first, but when images start drifting through his mind...It's too late.
Realization hits at once, and her body starts shaking with the force of her revelation.
"Godric, please! No hagas esto, por favor" (Don't do this, please.) She sobs, begging and shaking, her hands rising in front of her to plea the Lycan that keep watching her with dark, inhuman eyes, "Please, please no, please, no, no, no..."
There are no words coming from him.
No warnings.
In fact, she is pretty sure he doesn't realize what he is doing yet, but Salem does.
One second he is standing in front of her, watching her with silver orbs that do not see, shards of glass on the floor, and whiskey getting soaked by the rug.
The next second she is in his arms, pressed against the wall.
There is the tearing sound of fabric being ripped apart, and then her world explodes.
At first... there is only pain.
Jagged intense pain on the left side of her neck that makes everything shatter around her.
A boiling pit of fire.
Flames bursting in her veins.
Every nerve in her body flailing and burning, and hurting so much that everything inside her starts to crumble.
Adrenaline and fear mix in her blood, creating shivers on every inch of her skin as her muscles seize and convulse from the agony racing in her veins.
Her hands press against his chest, pushing him with all her fading strength in a feeble attempt at defence.
Bitter taste of betrayal on her tongue.
Disappointment.
She knows exactly what is happening, but somehow she is more hurt than afraid as she feels every single one of his teeth in-bedding further into her neck.
More disappointed than shocked.
She can feel him.
His mind teetering on the edge of a precipice. His humanity trying to push back the beast that has taken over his control.
His teeth in her neck and a choked whine dying in his throat while a tender hand cradle her head.
She curses her heart that implores her to soothe him and tell him that "it's okay," because the truth is that it isn't and she doesn't have the strength for it.
Doesn't have the strength for any of it anymore.
So, when the disappointment and betrayal finally settle in her soul, acceptance comes slowly.
She always thought it would end like that.
Well, not exactly like that.
She certainly hadn't counted on here and now. After all, in all her dreams and nightmares, Godric's existence had never been a possibility.
But it always ended like this... With her eyes and lungs burning from the scent of alcohol, with the dizziness of the lack of oxygen that comes from her breath being stolen from her, and the fire of the pain tearing apart her body until there is nothing left of her anymore.
And, for the first time in her life, as his teeth slice her skin, sending her body and soul into blistering agony, his left hand cushioning her head from the wall in a paradoxical show of tenderness, Salem reconsiders the things she hated the most about reading as a child.
Maybe... Just maybe, those last two words of her books are not so bad after all.
The End.
Yes, maybe it's time.
To let go.
Do what you want with me... I'm tired of fighting to survive.
I want to die.
Please, just...
Let it end, her mind begs as the world goes dark.