31. Sweet Relief of Death

thirty-one

Sweet Relief of Death

Rainer

“ A re you okay, mister,” the girl asks.

Her name… what’s her name? If I can remember it, I can view her as more than…

Thump.

Thump.

Thump .

The air is heavy with a metallic scent, tinged with fear. My fingertips tingle with anticipation, begging me to reach out. The urge for a taste is overwhelming.

With each lurch of her heart, the blood courses through her body. It’s a stream in the desert, and I’m a male parched.

The ache in my gums turns to a sharp prodding. My breathing grows shallow as my vision darkens.

As I lunge toward her, my heart races with excitement and hunger. Adrenaline surges through my veins. In a split second, I close the meager distance between us. The terror etched on her face only intensifies my primal need to drink .

She turns her face, trembling as a tear tracks down her cheek. It follows the path of her tattoo.

It feels like a warning.

It looks so familiar.

Alessia .

“No,” I growl, throwing myself across the cell and burying my face in my hands.

I will not give in .

I will not become the monster they want me to be.

In a fit of desperation, I tightly grip the bars enclosing us and slam my forehead into them. Agonizing pain pulses through my head, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Gripping tighter, I repeatedly bash my head into the iron.

Blackness floods my vision. The girl’s terrified screams dart through the room, each one a plea. Her voice is quickly drowned out by the sharp ringing in my ears.

Again and again, I slam my head into the iron, my hands quivering from the force. Vibrations course through my fingertips, but I refuse to release my grip. Mustering every ounce of strength I have, I continue.

With each repetition, the pain intensifies, suffocating me until I collapse in agony, embracing the sweet relief of death.