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TWENTY-SEVEN | SHE
He’d stabbed me. I was sure of it.
I could feel his fingers punching through my ribcage, his nails slicked into sharp points and digging through my flesh as he latched on to my heart. It beat out an unsteady, anxious rhythm as he yanked it free, and he held it in his hand for a moment, blood dripping down his wrist. I could do nothing but stare up at him as I fell to my knees.
The dim lamplight swirled around me. I felt seasick, dizzy, as the orange trees and the navy sky span, forming ringlets in the air. Then I felt the hard tarmac against my bare knees, and the heels of my hands following them onto the ground seconds later.
I felt my skin tear on impact, but barely, like a flash of red through my vision. I could feel it, but it was dwarfed by the pain in my chest. My eyes fluttered shut, and I curled into a ball, my broken hands clutching at the empty space where my heart used to be.
The wav
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