Page 215 of Because I Killed Him
Charlotte’s voice cuts through as she steps through the doorway. One glance at me charging at Rosamund like a rabid animal, and she recoils in horror. “What thef—”
She never finishes. Rosamund whirls and flings the monkey claws-first at Charlotte’s face. Green blood spatters across the open door. Charlotte screams as the monkey slashes her skin, then pries the creature off and hurls it at the couch.
Rosamund seizes the moment. She springs at Charlotte, her silk dress ripping at the thigh as she wrenches Charlotte back, hooks an arm around her neck, and presses the tip of her saber against the delicate hollow of Charlotte’s throat.
I slam to a halt, my pulse hammering so loudly it swallows every other sound.
Charlotte’s eyes blaze with more fury than fear as she thrashes against Rosamund’s chokehold. Blood drips down her cheek from deep, vicious scratches.
I stretch my hand toward Charlotte, feeling utterly helpless, until Henry steps through the door. The calm in the robot’s voice is infuriating—even more infuriating than Jerome, who’s still sipping his energy drink and flipping through helix data in the Sono-Chamber, blind and deaf to the war he’s hosting.
“Miss Prew, I must insist you release Miss Deering immediately,” Henry says. “This is not—”
“Silence, Pinkie,” Rosamund snarls. “Touch me, and I’ll have you decommissioned.”
She bares her teeth at me, like a cornered animal that loves the corner. Her saber dips until it kisses Charlotte’s skin, and a single drop of blood slides down her neck.
“Stop,” I choke. My eyes lock with Charlotte’s, pleading. She’s shaking so hard her boots slip on the floor. “Rosamund,please. Let her go.”
Rosamund’s voice hardens in challenge. “Want to save her? Then eat shit.”
The foul smell creeps into my nose, filling my mouth until my stomach clenches and roils.
“Don’t youdare, Lore,” Charlotte gasps, her breath hitching on a sob. I know she means it. She’d rather die than watch me crawl. But this isn’t how I’ll fight Rosamund. If I lose Charlotte, I lose everything.
I shove every thought aside but her as I step toward the corner. If I let myself think, I won’t be able to do it.
Behind me, Charlotte’s voice cuts through the buzzing in my skull, screaming for me to stop. But I keep moving. One step. Two. Then I crouch by the mess, the sour smell burning my throat before I even open my mouth.
Dad’s voice climbs from memory, low and cautionary:If you think strong people with power are dangerous, honey, just wait until you see what weak people with power are capable of.
I gag twice before I manage to swallow the first bite of feces. My stomach bucks so hard my ribs ache. A useless curse squeezes out as I reach for more, but my hand stops when I hear movement near the door.
I turn to see Henry lunging forward in a blur of rose-colored cloth, and Rosamund—too intoxicated by the sight of me on my knees—doesn’t notice the robot until its fingers clamp around her wrist. Rosamund’s scream pierces the air as the saber drops and clatters to the floor. The sound feels like my last chain snapping loose.
Charlotte breaks from Rosamund’s chokehold and stumbles into the wall, green blood smeared across her jaw. Her voice erupts with rage. “YOU BITCH. I’LL KILL YOU FOR THIS.”
Henry positions itself between the two girls, its sculpted graphene alloy body a wall of graceful strength. “Miss Prew,” the robot says, still restraining Rosamund with a wristlock. “Disengage immediately. Noncompliance shall result in removal by force.”
Rosamund thrashes so wildly that runs appear in the fitted silk bodice of her dress. I remain kneeling, my stomach clenched around poison, the taste of filth burning all the way down. Then, suddenly, Rosamund’s shoulders draw inward. She lifts her head, her eyes blazing with hatred, and her lips silently form the words:It’s finished. I’m going to kill you now.
And like a curse made real, an alert blinks on my Bond screen. My civil credits start ticking down in real time, a slow, relentless bleed for crimes I didn’t commit: 200 for assault on a Blue, 50 for subversion of academic hierarchy, 15 for defamation, 10 for malicious misinformation. One after another, the civil credits drop faster than my pulse can keep up.
I force myself upright and lock eyes with Rosamund through the haze. “Howare you doing this?”
She goes limp in Henry’s grip, panting heavily. “Doingwhat?”
“Cutting my credits.”
Henry tilts its head, studying me, and a flicker of what looks like fear sparks behind the robot’s eyes. Then it moves quickly, dragging Rosamund out of the room in a hold she can’t break.
The moment Rosamund is gone, Charlotte closes the gap between us and throws her arms around my waist so roughly that my body folds.
“Why the hell did you do it, Lore?” she cries. “Why?”
I hug her back, only half-aware as my hands ghost up her waist, my mind still stuck on the falling civil credits. She smells of sweat, blood, and every good thing I have left.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lore. I should’ve—I’llkillRosamund for this.”
