You can do this, Harvey. One breath in, one out. In and out.
It wasn’t working. Black spots formed in my eyes as dizziness threatened to take over. My pulse raced, my skin itchy. Dread filled me as familiar sensations flooded my body.
Only one thing would help.
I stumbled into the bathroom and threw open the cabinet, searching for what I needed, but it wasn’t there. I pulled everything out, not caring about the bottles that fell to the floor, liquid spilling as they cracked open.
Discarded toothbrushes, part-used tubes of cream.
Where the fuck is it?
I stared at my face again, eyes red from crying. I’d been through this before, so why did it feel so raw this time, like my heart was being ripped from my chest, leaving a gaping wound that would never heal?
I screamed, unable to handle the emotions, and slammed the door shut, banging my fists on the mirror in anger, or was it sorrow?
The mirror cracked, shards of glass falling into the sink below. My fists bled. I groaned at the sensation. So fucking good. All the fear and anxiety I’d been feeling ebbed away as droplets of scarlet liquid dripped from my shredded skin.
I picked up a piece of glass and, with no hesitation this time, I sliced into the flesh on my forearm. No shame, just an overwhelming sense of peace, as if this was what I had always meant to do.
Everything I’d ever done had led to this moment.
I did it again and watched, hypnotised, as the small beads of blood mingled with each other.
But it wasn’t enough. I did it again, slicing deeper this time.
I wouldn’t be missed. Killian would be gone for days, and Julie would think I’d forgotten or I hadn’t got her message.
I could end this now. End the suffering. End my life.
I didn’t matter to anyone.
I gazed into the mirror and saw my disjointed image.
I was a shattered man.
A deviant and a monster, and I didn’t deserve to live.
Chapter 23
Killian
“Harvey? I’m home.” I let myself in with the key he’d given me, disturbed by the eerie silence in the house. Maybe he’d gone out, but a feeling of something akin to dread stirred inside me.
Something about our conversation yesterday had niggled at me all night. He wasn’t himself, and despite Sully’s insistence that I stay, I made an excuse and left on the first train this morning.
In typical fashion, I’d forgotten to put my phone on charge, and by the time it had some juice, the signal was so bad I couldn’t even make a call.
I’d run from the station straight to his house. His coat and shoes were still in the hallway, his keys still on the table. It wasn’t right.
I called out again. Still nothing.
I took the stairs two at a time. His bedroom door was open, bed unmade. Harvey always made his bed.
But what was that smell? I pushed open the bathroom door, met by the sight of Harvey lying in a pool of deep red blood.
Jesus fucking Christ. I knew something was wrong; I just didn’t think he’d try this.
I dropped to my knees, not knowing what to do, but holding him, maybe for the last time, overrode any thought I had.