For weeks, Death whispered the sweetest nothings in my ear:
End it all. End the pain.
You're father can't hurt you anymore.
You won't have to watch your mother cower in fear.
No one understands you wear long sleeves to hide the bruises and the Goth look blends the black and blue into something trendy.
End it. Now.
Slitting my wrists was the easy part. Staying dead turned out to be harder than I thought. There I was smiling. My soul separating stitch by stitch, releasing the pain as Death promised. Except my mom came home early from work. She never came home early for work. Ever. To the hospital I went, considered dead for sixty minutes. Then a beep. More beeps. Heart rhythm. Unwanted life.
Father's visit pained me. He stared down at me with bloodshot eyes, buttons of his shirt all wrong, a sneer on his lips. I willed my heart to stop. It beat stronger than ever before. That's when Father Quanon showed up. Surviving suicide is one thing. Returning from death after an hour, well, that warranted a chance at a new life, which my father was all to eager to sign off on. My mother, though she wanted to keep me, obeyed as usual.
Father Quanon took me under his wing, taught me the ways of the Cleansers, helped me to bury the pain into a deep dark recess never to return. This also meant every other emotion had to be done away with as well, including love.
It's hard not to think about midnight sky eyes, especially with him missing for some days now. I try to relax in the solace that I'm no longer a fledgling Cleanser. Probation period over. Being the best for the past two years gives me top seed to decide if or where I want to transfer to. But I don't know if I want to.
I like it here. I love my routine.
And those midnight sky eyes.
Abby's really falling for a guy she's not supposed to interact with anymore. What will happen next?