“I have watched you, Flame. I have watched you as you have watched me. And I have seen you free the flames. I have counted with you from my window as you have administered the slashes to your flesh, releasing what you believe runs within you.” My legs began to shake as I lifted the knife, and lined up the blade over his arm. “I will not take your life, but I will help you release the flames. I will stay here with you, in this room, until you come back to me. Until my Flame breaks back through.”
I lowered the tip of the blade to a patch of unharmed skin on Flame’s forearm. Just before my throat closed from what I was about to do, I hushed out, “I will not take your life, Flame, for it is far too precious to lose.”
Bracing my hand, I pressed the sharp blade into Flame’s skin and dragged it along the flesh. As the laceration surfaced and the blood began to flow, it was a balm to Flame’s torment. “One,” I whispered aloud, unable to take my eyes off his face. Flame’s wide exhausted stare remained fixed upon mine. But they became leaden, leaden with relief.
I struck again. “Two,” I continued to count, “three, four, five.” Flame’s body began to relax, his straining arms and legs, under the heavy pull of the ties, stilled. I looked at his arm, now coated with a fresh sheen of blood, and forced myself to continue. Everything inside of me screamed at me to stop hurting him, but I knew I had to continue. I had to reach eleven.
Repositioning the blade to his upper arm, I commenced the cutting. “Six, seven, eight, nine.” Nausea built in my throat at having to slash him. I was unsure if I could keep going, when Flame’s arm twitched, and I heard him voice quietly, “Ten.”
Flame’s dark eyes were now alert, watching me. Tears tumbled down my face. Flame inhaled a labored breath, and rasped again, “Ten.”
Without moving my eyes from his, I sliced at his skin. Flame’s eyelids fluttered in relief as I said, “Ten.”
Repositioning the blade, Flame’s chest expanded on an expectant breath. Cutting deep, I choked out, “Eleven.”
As if a cool shower of water had extinguished the flames in his blood, Flame sagged back on the bed, his stuttered breathing becoming even.
Instantly dropping the knife to the floor, I stared down at my hand, now spattered with Flame's blood. I felt sick as I stared at the red liquid. Averting my gaze, it landed on Flame’s prone body. He looked exhausted, his hands and feet now unmoving under the tight ties. But it was his face that encouraged me to find a modicum of peace with what I had just done. His beautiful face, with its features smooth and relaxed. And his eyes. His half-lidded eyes silently thanking me. I had successfully battled the darkness that was consuming his soul.
For now.
Edging closer, I whispered, “Sleep, Flame. Rest. I shall be here when you wake.”
It did not take long for his eyes to close and for sleep to claim his exhausted mind. I fought back the sudden urge to press a kiss to his cheek.
Flame’s wide chest rose and fell in a steady motion. But as Flame had found a temporary peace, I found myself suddenly riddled with guilt.
What have I done? I thought, seeing the blood on my hands.
My feet carried me backwards, until I tripped over an object. The small horrendously untidy cabin suddenly registered in my mind. There was barely any furniture, save for this small bed and a single chair. No light. Nothing that made it a place of comfort. Flame’s things were everywhere; dust and cobwebs covered the walls. The floor was cluttered with clothes and unwashed dishes, also what looked like rags covered in blood. Except a small spot at the rear of the house. It looked like a trapdoor in the floor. But the wooden trapdoor was covered in scratches, knife marks, and what appeared to be dried blood. Then there was a bucket to the side.
It was all too much; way too much. Tears blinded my eyes, my chest constricted my lungs. I needed air. I needed to breathe in fresh air, only while he slept.
Finding the door, I silently pulled the chair from under the doorknob and slipped through. As soon as I hit the cold air, I sagged to the ground, and let the tears fall freely—right into my bloodied hands.
Chapter Ten
Maddie