There’s A Sickening New Version Of Suicide That Teens Are Being Hospitalized For Attempting

I should’ve found it sweet, but the word pathetic popped into my mind first. She looked like a corpse and she smelt like one. If the scent ever wafted up the steps, his daughters would get curious. They would stumble downstairs to see their dear mommy all limp and corroded. I was saving them from that.

I yanked the wire from the computer, yanked the plug from her cold arm. For good measure, I smashed the screen with my gun. It cracked like a spider web, creating only superficial damage, so I heaved it up and tossed it against the wall. It hit an old painting of a bull that came crashing down, making more noise than I intended.

I cringed from the sound, but my pulse remained steady, my hands still. I saved Hardwick from the wife he thought he wanted, saved his girls from early graves, and felt nothing. I noticed a hole in one of the floorboards and wished another mouse would pop out.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hardwick asked, his voice creaking like the steps he had fled down.

I refused to look at his face, keeping my eyes on the ground. “She’s not coming back,” I said. “Bury her body, give her a funeral, call up her parents. It’s sick you haven’t told them by now.”

“It’s sick — I’m sick? You…” He paused, and I imagined smoke steaming from his ears. A cartoon character that would cool off after a few one-liners. “You want to be with me so badly that you kill my wife?”

A burst of air left my nose as a small, unbelieving laugh. “She asked for this,” I said. “I gave her what she wanted.”

“You saw her?” he asked, his face dropping with his voice.

I nodded, then inched closer to try for a consoling hug. Before I reached him, his hand grabbed for the gun still attached to his hip, but I aimed mine first.

I never realized how small the room was. We were still on opposite ends, but the barrels of our guns almost grazed.

“You wouldn’t fire,” I said. We’d been through too much. No, we never took a bullet in the line of duty, but we spent hours patrolling the streets together with nothing to do but talk. Impossible not to become best friends with the person you see more than your own reflection.

“She’s gone, because of you,” he said, his veins as blue as lightning.

“Oh, come on.”

“I’m serious. She hooked herself up to that fucking machine after we had a fight about you,” he said. “She thought I was cheating. She thought I’d leave everything for you.”

(Fuck. He was really going to hurt me. His eyes screamed it.)

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