[CONTENTID2]If You Come[/CONTENTID2][CONTENTID1]

"Mustn't fall asleep." She tells herself. "Mustn't fall... mustn't..."

Her breaths exhaust in sheets of ghostly vapor.

Cold... like the inside of a meat locker. High-tail winds lash out, torrents of blinding snow and ice bite at flesh.

With half frozen fingers, she grips the raw chains around her neck.

 

Captured. Locked. Restrained.

 

She is a prisoner. In a prison she has constructed for herself.

Justice is too fair a maiden to be left in the hands of higher authority.

They, who are easily manipulated by a pair of fine eyes, cannot be trusted.

 

"Mustn't..."

 

Cold... a cold to penetrate deep, so deep as to cause the very soul to scar.

But only hell knows what goes through her frail body... a fiery pit of searing heat and a heavenly rise of caustic smoke.

 

The brilliant darkness. The deafening silence. She does not wish to return to.

The taste of putrid meat. The sound of dripping blood. She does not wish to return to.

The foul stench of death. The unsightly spectacle of decay. She does not wish to return to.

 

"Mustn't fall asleep... again."

 

• • • • • • •

 

"How is he doing today?"

"He's been a good boy... for the most part, sitting quietly in the corner as you see there."

"Not raving mad?"

"No. He hasn't spoken the name. Not in days."

 

"Who is the person he claims to be?"

"Cyndi... Cyndi Wang Xinling. We've corrected him countless times, but he insist on being somebody else."

"Who is this Cyndi?"

"There is no record of such a person... dead or alive."

 

"A figment of his imagination?"

"Evidently so."

 

• • • • • • •​

 

It seems to be the case.

She has fallen asleep... again.

 

Yes, again... but she will not scream this time, nor will she make a scene.

She will not try to persuade those beyond the glass of her true identity.

Not in this body. Not in this wretched, wretched body.

Not in his body.

 

She has decided between waking moments to send a message.

His body will need to negotiate between breathing and being.

When she is through, his time will be agonizingly slow.

 

Fire rages inside her chest as she guides his amble fingers to his chest.

To send a message, nails dig deep, tearing layers upon layers of skin.

His shirt is soaked... with his blood and hers.

 

She falls. The pain has made her dizzy. The lights above seem to be winking, shimmering like comets.

Comets that would come down from the ceiling to crush them both.

 

But she is not yet done.

Not until his saliva bleeds red.

 

• • • • • • •​

 

"Oh . What the hell is he doing to himself?!"

"Biting off his fingers... and succeeding. Call in the specialists... he needs to be sedated immediately!"

 

• • • • • • •​

 

She wakes up... again.

To a scene not all unfamiliar.

Covered in blood.

Dead bodies all over the floor.

 

A place she has never been.

She must have passed out again.

 

Chains gone.

Fingers gone.

Not even a surprise anymore.

 

As she sits up, the fire in her chest continues to rage on.

At her feet is a message... a message written in his own words but with the blood of her hand.

Be with you, always, Cyn.. Love, JJ.

 

As she stands up, the shock from her broken hand shoots up her arm, making her wince in pain.

"I hope my message hurts, too, motherer."

 

And she walks away.

Away from the blood.

His blood. Her blood.

Away from the dead bodies.

He killed. She killed.

Away from the bullet of the gun.

 

• • • • • • •​

 

"Is he crying?"

"No... laughing. Like a mad man."

"What's that he carved into his chest?"

"He's staring at it. A message."

I'll kill you...

I'll kill you, JJ... next time. for sure.

[/CONTENTID1]