Page 168 of Devils' Day Party
I close my eyes against the darkness as my chest spasms, and I suck in two lungfuls of water against my body's better judgment. Automatically, my hands go to the ropes around my waist, struggling to untie the heavy knots, to save me even though I know I can't be saved.
I will forever live in this loop if I don't do this, dooming the ones I love to live in repeat. If you stay up long enough to see the sunrise, paint it. In my mind, I mix colors and pick up one final paintbrush, splashing yellow across an empty canvas. It gets brighter as my body struggles, my legs kicking, the stones dragging me down as my lacy dress tangles around me like a net.
Brighter and brighter and brighter, like the sun kissing the sky for the first time after a long night.
My body gets heavy and my lids drift closed in the darkness, the scene from my imaginary painting exploding behind my eyes like a true sunrise.
This all started because I drove my moms' car off the edge of the road, because I died, because I didn't appreciate what I had when I had it.
Goodnight, little devil, I tell myself as I start to drift further from consciousness. And good luck in the next life.
Wherever that may be, however it may turn out, at least I know what I'm going to do when I get there.
I'm going to live.“Wake the fuck up, Karma.”
That's Raz's voice; I'd recognize it anywhere. But it's coming from so far away, and I'm so damn cold. I try to turn away from the sound, to drift off into that peaceful blackness where I belong, but my chest hurts, and my body is yanking me back into reality whether I like it or not.
Blinking awake, I see the roof of the cavern, the reflection of the spring's water dancing on the ceiling as the lantern casts its glow across the still surface.
My chest spasms and I roll to my side, coughing and choking on water as someone rubs my back. Sitting in front of me, his black leather mask pushed up into his hair, his ebon eyes dark with fear, is Calix Knight.
Tears of black makeup streak down his face, like he might've been crying. If he was, he isn't now, but his face is stripped of both his Devils' Day mask and the emotional prison he trapped himself in for so long.
I cough and vomit onto the stone floor, surrounded by stalagmites while Raz crowds in close, putting my head in his lap and stroking my hair back as he murmurs to me, his sweet nothings peppered with curse words in true Raz fashion. You're gonna be o-fucking-kay, Karma. I'm fucking here Karma. Fuck, Karma, just fuck.
“Should we call an ambulance?” It's Barron behind me. I manage to glance back just long enough to see that he's soaking wet, glitter bleeding down his chest, his mask missing as wet rainbow-colored hair drips into his face. He dove in to save me, and he did a much better job at saving me than I did him.
A wracking sob takes over me as I sit up, curling my arms around my legs and putting my forehead to my knees.
“Call it,” Calix demands, but I shake my head, lifting my face up to smile at him. He might not be crying now, but I am. Ebon eyes meet mine as Raz scoots in close and pulls me against his chest, wrapping me up in warm arms.
“Please don't,” I whisper, not wanting to spend my last few hours of the day in the back of an ambulance. I failed them, I think, knowing that I'm going to have to try again at some point, not realizing how much I didn't just want to live, but how much I wanted to live this life, right here and now.
I don’t think I’ll be able to do it, even though I know I should.
I’m both heartbroken and elated at the same time.
“Karma, what happened?” Barron asks, leaning in to look at me, his hand reaching up to smooth some wet hair back from my forehead. “I’d ask if this was an accident, but I figured the ropes didn’t magically tie themselves around your waist and ankles.”
I snort a bit of laughter, but end up coughing instead as Raz rubs my back in a soothing way that I would not have thought him capable of.
“Did you try to …” Calix starts, taking a deep breath and then exhaling. “Did you try to kill yourself because of us? Because of how we’ve treated you?”
I shake my head, not wanting him to imprint that level of trauma into his psyche.
“No, that’s not it at all,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and scratchy. I guess almost dying will do that to a person. Or should I say, almost committing suicide. “I’d explain it to you, but I don’t think you’d understand.”
