I lay on the freezing floor like a discarded rag, thrown aside without a second thought. They stepped over me, every single one of them, and not a soul reached down. My body was heavy as stone. Even the agony in my chest had gone numb—or maybe it hurt so much that feeling itself had shut down.
I tried to get up. I couldn't move.
My eyelids grew heavier. Heavier. The red behind my eyes dimmed, then darkened to black.
Am I dying?
"Cecily? God damn it—Cecily! Who did this to my daughter?!"
A furious roar tore through the darkness like a crack of light. That voice—so familiar, so impossibly far away, as if it were reaching me from inside a dream.
I fought to open my eyes. Blurred shapes rushed toward me, frantic footsteps closing in.
Then a figure bent down. A face, hazy through the blood, carved with fury and heartbreak.
My father.
His hands were shaking as he reached for me, so careful, so terrified of causing more pain, as he gathered me into his arms. His eyes were red. Tears streamed down a face I had never—not once in my life—seen cry.
"Daddy's here. Daddy's taking you home."
I could finally go home.
The darkness swallowed me whole.
