Killing myself was the only solution to end this pain and reunite with my family. The plan came to me during a nightmare.
Enfolded by fire, my mom grabbed my hand in her smoldering ones. “You have to save us,” she said, her voice croaking.
I held on to her, even though the heat scorched my skin. I gritted my teeth and endured the pain that ricocheted through me. “I want to. I want to save you. All of you,” I said between sobs.
My father appeared on the other side and slapped my mother’s hand away from mine. I gasped, not expecting such action.
He glared at me. “You are poison. You’re poison to us. You’re poison to anyone around you.”
Desperation gripped my heart. My father hated me. He hated me because I couldn’t help. Because they died and I did nothing.
“No!” I cried, reaching for them.
The fire bellowed higher, stronger, brighter, and engulfed them. I raced to them, screaming when the heat wrapped around me and the fire charred my skin.
Panting, I jerked awake. My hands shook and my tee clung to my sweat-dampened torso.
I took a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, and then shut down my conscience, the part telling me this plan was insane and I shouldn’t do it.
But I had to. I couldn’t go on like this anymore. I pushed those thoughts away, and a weird mix of desperation and numbness settled in my heart.
Feeling like a robot on a mission, I threw the comforter aside and jumped out of bed. I pulled a jacket over my tee and shorts and exited my bedroom, hoping everyone was asleep at this hour of the night.
I tiptoed to the bathroom, grabbed the medicine box from the cabinet, and then tiptoed to the kitchen. I emptied the box of medicine over the counter and sorted through it. Tylenol Cold, Tylenol pain reliever, aspirin, Benadryl, Robitussin, Zyrtec, Anacin, and several others. I opened them all and dumped the contents in a bowl. Now I need some liquid. Water maybe, but I would prefer something a little stronger. I opened the fridge and found beer. Hmm, if I didn’t find anything else, it would have to do. I searched the entire kitchen until I located a tall cabinet housing hard liquor. I grabbed a vodka bottle, a glass from the drying rack, and filled it to the brim.
I glanced at the bowl with at least fifty tablets and the vodka glass before me.
My conscience wanted me to listen. It banged on the walls I had built around it, asking me to listen, asking me to think better about this, to give up on what I was about to do—but I refused to hear it. Clinging to the numbness in me, I pushed my conscience away, making it stay locked behind my walls.
Swallowing pills and drinking would be far less painful than trying to pierce myself with a dagger—and hopefully easier. I wouldn’t feel anything while taking them, not until it was too late. I shrugged. I would probably pass out before feeling real pain and dying, and that was all fine by me.
Shaking, I held the glass with one hand, took a handful of pills in the other, and popped them in my mouth.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
My heart racing, I jumped and choked on the pills. The glass slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor. A coughing fit shook my body.
Micah rushed to my side. “Nadine,” he said, his voice strained.
He held my torso up and smacked the heel of his hand, not too gently, on the middle of my back. I spat the pills and took a long breath, which started another coughing fit.
He turned me around and helped me lean against the counter. The cough subsided and I glanced at him. His brows were furrowed, his lips pressed together, his jaw flexed, the muscles in his neck tense, and his eyes … were filled with hate? Disgust? No, but I couldn’t figure out what it was exactly.
He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “What were you thinking?” The tone of his voice carried such disappointment I winced. “I don’t …” He exhaled through his nose. “Why?”
I averted my eyes and said nothing. I wasn’t sorry about what I had planned to do; I was only sorry that he got here in time to stop me.
“Are you this unhappy? So miserable you’re willing to take your own life?”
There was an open bottle of vodka, a broken glass, and medicine spread over the counter and on the floor. The answer should be clear.
If I had my way, he would forget what he saw and walk away so I could fill another glass with vodka and grab another handful of pills.
He shook his head. “What can I do, Nadine? How can I help you feel better?”
Oh, now that was one question I wanted to hear from him. I lifted my chin and stared at him. “A Soul Oath. I want a Soul Oath from you.”
He cursed under his breath. “I can’t believe this.”
“If you do this, if you strike a Soul Oath with me, I won’t try to kill myself. I will make every effort to stay alive, to help you find the scepters, to defeat Imha, until we can honor the Soul Oath.”
“I don’t see any advantage. You will die either way.”
“Not true. If I die now, I’ll just end my misery. But with the Soul Oath, I’ll die for a good cause. I’ll help you and the others in this war and then I’ll die to save my family. There’s nothing I want more.” He shook his head. Despair rippled through me, and I punched his chest. “Then get out of here because I want to die! If you won’t help me, then leave!”
He grabbed my wrists, stopping me from hitting him again and watched me with hooded eyes for a long time. I couldn’t read his look, but I was sure he wouldn’t help me. I didn’t care what he thought; I just wanted him gone from here.
A new wave of despair hit me and a sob shook my body.
Letting go of me, he retreated a step. His eyes were hard on mine. My knees buckled and I leaned back on the counter for support, taking a deep breath. This wasn’t working. Micah would never understand my desperation. I thought of giving up for tonight, telling him it was a moment of weakness, and it wouldn’t happen again. Then I would come back here another time.
“Okay,” he finally said.
My heart skipped a beat and I gaped. “Okay?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes, but I thought you would say no.”
He sighed. “All right. We’ll do it tomorrow. Let’s clean this mess up and go back to bed.”
“No,” I said, taking a meat knife from one of the drawers. “I want to do it now, before I clean up this mess.”
I thought he would argue again, but he ended up nodding.
He took the knife from me. “There is no way of undoing a Soul Oath. Are you sure about this?”
I held my hand out to him. “I’m sure.”
He prickled my finger with the knife, drawing blood, and then pricked his. He took my palm and smeared his blood on it, then did the same with my blood and his palm. Next, he placed my bloodstained palm over his heart and his bloodstained hand on my chest.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“By the Soul Oath, I swear to bring Nadine’s family back to life once the war is over and the world is safe again. In return, she’ll give me her soul.”