Save Me

"It's okay to make a mistake - just please, don't make it twice."

-Rihanna

♔ Chapter Twenty-One ♔

The knife clanged when it left my fingers and collided with the floor. I was staring straight ahead of me, at the walls, naked and repulsed.

Luke's blood covered my bare flesh, still warm and sticky and drooping off of me, onto the floor, where his body lay motionless. His blood felt like a warm blanket wrapping me tightly, but then it turned cold, and unbearable on my skin.

When I dared myself to look down, my entire body shaking so hard I felt like I was spasming, I cried out at the sight of him. His fingers twitched in those last few moments, while he bled out all over my bedroom floor. When I saw all the blood pooled around his body, I wanted to be sick. My hands went to cover my mouth, but I tasted his blood on my lips, on my tongue, a bitter and metallic taste. My whole throat convulsed when I realised, spewing vomit all over the floor.

I screamed and shouted and collapsed onto my knees, when the moment suddenly returned to me. His blood covered my legs, my arms, as I grabbed his body and tried to shake the life back into him, tried to undo what I'd done to him. I couldn't even believe what I'd done, could barely process what I'd seen. I fucking killed him. Dead. Fucking dead.

When I realised that, I recoiled from his body and collapsed against the nearest wall, the lucidity slowly rushing back to me as the adrenaline and shock faded. I was still shaking, still staring at his body, and I couldn't bare it. His grey, dead eyes stared out, his hands now still, trying to hold his throat back together.

What the fuck had I done?

I left my room quickly, shutting the door behind me. I didn't want to see him, didn't want to touch him. The first thing I did was go into the bathroom. I caught my reflection in the mirror, more red than anything else. Blood had splattered first all over my face and chest, and dribbled down. My arms and legs were covered in it, from sitting there, lying it, holding him, begging and pleading for him to come back to life, for it all to have been a strange dream.

I just couldn't believe I'd done it again. I'd killed someone. I'd regressed, just like I always knew I would. I let the old Isaac reach up to the surface, to reclaim the fucking illusion of control, and I killed him. God, I killed him.

It didn't feel the same, either. When I killed Tom, I wanted to. I pushed him over the cliff without a care in the whole world, and I felt nothing for weeks after, maybe months. I was a different person, I told myself. I didn't mean to kill Luke, did I? It was an accident, I told myself. He came for me. He attacked me. Raped me. I was just defending myself, I kept repeating. Accident. Just an accident.

I panicked and grabbed my phone, dialling the first number I could think of. "Pick up, pick up, pick up," I pleaded.

"What the fuck do you want?" Hedley answered, his tone sarcastic and careless.

"I'm in big fucking trouble, Hedley," I said, panting, voice rushed and mad. "I need your help."

"What have you done now, you raging lunatic?"

"I can't tell you over the phone," I hushed. "You're still in town, aren't you?"

"This is my hometown, Isaac. I'm always here."