Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six

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God, this blows...

That's all I can think.

How much this all just fucking blows.

Seconds march on in silence, but I don't count them.

I have no need to.

Monitoring time won't change the outcome of my fate. It won't save me from the inevitable. In fact, the only difference it'll make at this stage is wear me out even faster.

Still, the time passes, quietly and unmeasured. That's all I know for sure, and only because I'm still conscious.

Barely.

My head is tilted backward in defeat, all the muscles in my neck going lax without my permission, finally giving up their five-hour-long fight. I can't even begin to explain just how physically tired I am, every cell in my body dripping with exhaustion. My arms feel like sunbaked chewing gum, limp and lifeless, simply unable to support my body in any way any longer.

I gaze up at the high ceiling involuntarily, my eyes meeting the crescent-kissed sky above, staring into a blanket of silver-stained darkness through the expanse of dome-shaped glass. The moon is in plain sight, not quite full but almost, like someone took a small bite out of its corner. It sits high and proud in the surrounding sea of winter night nonetheless, but solitary, not a single star perched anywhere near its vicinity.

Yet, it shines so brightly, its beauty and strength undiminished in spite of the fact that it's incomplete. Isolated. Alone.

Like me.

Unlike me.

Suddenly, I find myself jealous of it, wishing I could be more like the serene planetary body staring back at me, strong and beautiful in spite of my imperfections. Admirable despite my flaws. Dignified even in the presence of my shortcomings. But I'm not. I wouldn't be here if I was. If I had been strong enough to make a different decision. The right decision. To say no. To not succumb to my fear and desperation. To stand tall in the face of adversity and trial even when everything around me was crumbling.

But I didn't.

Because I'm not strong.

I'm not admirable.

I'm...not even sure I'm a decent person anymore.

At least, not as decent as I thought I was. Certainly not good, even if I'd like to think I am. I'm hurting another woman by simply being here, after all, even if I don't want to be. At the end of the day, I'm knowingly participating in her betrayal and inevitable heartbreak; the kind I know I wouldn't recover from. The kind I've avoided my entire adult life in the first place because I've witnessed just how soul-crushing it is.

My chest tightens against the melancholic thought, evoking a swarm of negative emotions that quickly consume me, adding to my physical torment. I feel unbelievably taut, like a slinky that's been stretched to its limit, the tension in my body almost tangible, like I can actually see and touch it as well as feel it. But, in some way, the pain is a double-edged sword, both good and bad. Perhaps it's part of my penance, a tiny fraction of payback from Lady Karma for my decision, even though I know there's nothing I could really do to atone for agreeing to sleep with a married man. To have meaningless sex with the love of another woman's life for money.

No, not simply for money.

For money that will ensure I don't lose the one person I have left. The one person I can count on for anything. The one person who loves me unconditionally.

And yet...it's hard not to think about whether that would still be true if she knew where I was right now. If she knew what I was doing—even if she knew why.

I wonder...would she be furious? Hurt? Overwhelmed with guilt? Disappointed? With me? With herself? With us both? Or just our shitty situation? Maybe all of the above? I guess I'll never know, because as long as I'm breathing, she'll never find out. Never. Her heart wouldn't be able to take it. Not after her recent stroke. And certainly not after barely surviving the deaths of both her husband and son.

Don't think about that...

I force my attention back to the lone circle in the sky, practically grasping for it to save me from my untimely, depressing memories. Without thinking, I start humming Cat Power's The Moon, the tune flowing out of me almost instinctively, as if someone turned a faucet on in my head—which is weird because I haven't thought of the song in a long time. The ball gag impedes any formation of actual words, but it doesn't matter. The lyrics appear in my mind as clearly as their main subject, forged into my subconscious from countless replays of Cat's serene voice once upon a—less tragic—time in my life.

The moon is not only beautiful

It is so far away

The moon is not only ice cold

It is here to stay

When I lay me down

Will you still be around

When they put me six feet underground

Will the big bad beautiful you be around...

Before I even realize it, I've shot myself in the foot—not that either one feels particularly alive—as the last two stanzas seem to echo in my head, and the thoughts I was trying so hard to banish only come boomeranging back.

As does the image of my tumor.

And yet...even with their interference and all the mental baggage they catapult my way, I can't bring myself to stop humming. My voice is low and weak, but persistent. Unrelenting. Almost as if I have to finish singing the song—an illogical compulsion that I have zero energy to question or dissect right now.

Everyone says they know you

Better than you know who

Everyone says they own you

More than you do

When I lay me down

Will you still be around

When they put you six feet underground

Will the big bad beautiful moon still be around...

My eyelids droop as a spell of dizziness creeps in, struggling to stay open in spite of the silver light shining directly on them.

I'm so tired.

So, so tired.

I consider blowing the whistle for the millionth time since I "acquired" it, but now, not a single bone in my body resists the urge; every inch of muscle, every ounce of blood, every fiber of my disintegrating being is telling—no, begging—me to just do it. To end it.

Yes.

There's no point in holding out any longer.

I mean...this whole thing could just be a bunch of bullshit.

Maybe this was all a sick, twisted ploy from the beginning.

What if he never actually planned on paying me at all?

There's a chance all this pain and torture might amount to absolutely nothing.

I...I'll just have to come up with something else.

Yes.

I'll find another way to get the money.

And if you can't? the voice whispers.

Fresh tears well up in my eyes, spilling over my cheeks almost as soon as they form, and I haven't the strength—or desire—to suppress them.

I can't do this.

I truly can't hold on anymore.

Even though, in my heart of hearts, I know I have to.

But...I don't have it in me. Not anymore.

I've tried. I've tried so hard but I'm just not strong enough.

I suck in a stuttered breath, everything in me ready to throw in the towel.

Damn the money.

As I cry silently, about to raise my muddied white flag in surrender, my mind hones in on a single image without my permission:

Gran.

A sob tries to dislodge itself from my throat but a small croak is all that escapes around the ball.

More tears stain my cheeks, flowing uncontrollably as I think of my grandmother.

She's always been there for me. Always. She's never once hesitated to help me, even when I didn't ask. Especially when I didn't ask. No matter what it might have cost her.

I think about all the pain she's in right now, all the turmoil she's been through—both physical and emotional—and how insignificant mine is compared to that.

And she still kept going in spite of it all, never once giving up, enduring even the worst of times.

For me.

She's already lost so much. Too much.

And she stands to lose what little she has left...if I blow this whistle.

The shoe is finally on the other foot, and now it's my turn to be there for her. To prove I'm worth all the sacrifices she's made for me. To prove I'm worth a damn.

I can't give in now. I can't be anything less than what she's been to me.

I have to keep going.

For her.

Because, now, she depends on me not giving up.

I can't fail her. No matter what.

Yes. This is only temporary. I can do this. I can get through anything that monster, Frost, can dish out. I must. And I will. Even if it kills me.

'Cause the moon is not only beautiful

It is so far away

The moon is not only ice cold

It is here to stay

Everyone says they know you

Better than you know who

Everyone says they own you

More than you do—

The spinning of gears clashes with my voice, quickly drowning out and overpowering Cat's song, but I don't allow the foreboding sound to interrupt me, my mind holding on to the lyrics for dear life, for my salvation. I sing with everything I have in me, humming as loudly as I can even when my breathing turns too shallow and my torso starts to contort again—a result of the device rotating for the sixth time.

I steel myself against the motion adamantly, like I have each time before, but even with all the willpower in the world, my weak limbs have limits. And they've reached theirs.

The make-shift clock continues to turn and, in spite of all my efforts, I can't counter it. Not even a little.

I'm pulled away against my will, the tips of my toes dragging unceremoniously through the small puddle of discharge, creating wet, slippery trails as they're yanked from the safety of the designated numbers, my body physically unable to undo what's been done.

So I do the only thing left to do:

Brace for impact.

***

A single breath.

One measly, shallow, incomplete breath.

That's all I get before I go up in flames.

Like nothing I've ever felt in my life, a horrible wave of static instantly knocks the wind out of me, the angry current grabbing my ankles like a vice, pulling me toward it incessantly, as if it's a living, breathing organism—one with a huge bone to pick with me.

And only the briefest moment passes...before I completely lose it.

I scream uncontrollably, the degree of pain in my voice veiled once more by the stupid gag, a mere shadow of the agony that fills me from every angle, too much to take all at once.

It's hell.

Pure hell.

There's no other way to describe this.

It climbs quickly, racing up my legs like an army of fire ants and circuiting throughout my entire body, the voltage amplified by the very things I recited to Frost:

Tears.

Saliva.

Sweat.

Cum...

The motherfucking irony.

It's almost poetic; each one both evidence and a catalyst of my undoing.

And, just like that, words he forced from me only hours ago come full circle, like the one I'm trapped in—my very own, custom-made circle of hell.

I wheeze uncontrollably, my breaths coming and going far too rapidly, barely inhaling before I exhale harshly, my nostrils flaring around the gag. Saliva runs out of my mouth liberally, dribbling down my chin and joining my tears on the floor.

Somberly, I realize that I'm producing even more liquid that will undoubtedly make the electrocution worse, but there's nothing I can do to stop it. Any of it. It's a vicious cycle; the electrocution evokes my stream of tears and copious amounts of saliva—which only ensures an even more powerful electrocution.

A simultaneous surge of fire and ice continues to course through every inch of me, unraveling every cell in my body. The pain quickly becomes so overwhelming that I can't even keep my eyes open, my tears falling in earnest now, and I can't stop the wails that rip themselves from my raw throat. I fall apart all at once, letting go of every lingering effort to keep it together.

I cry without restraint, bawling harder than I have in years, but I realize it's not just from the physical pain.

No. That's only part of it.

What shoves me off the edge is the unprecedented emotional toll of this entire fucking mess. The sheer hopelessness that led up to this moment—one that will haunt me for the rest of my life. My powerlessness in it. The fact that my life has taken the kind of morally-bankrupt deviation I never dreamed it would. That losing nearly my entire family wouldn't be the end of my grief and suffering. My anger at how unjust and unfair everything is. And, now, my own conflicted self-loathing for putting myself through this level of humiliation because I'd been so desperate that I actually saw it as a solution to my problems.

The solution.

I know life isn't fair. And I don't expect it to be...but God, what did I ever do to deserve all this? Huh? What the fuck have I done?! How much more of my soul are you going to take away? How much more of my spirit has to be stripped from me before I can have some semblance of peace, an inkling of a semi-normal life? How much? Answer me!

Fury at a God I don't even believe in and useless questions spin in my head until I can no longer even hear myself, my cries drowned out by the vicious pounding in my temples, the veins in them engorged with blood that seems to swish violently in every direction, barely able to contain it, feeling like they're going to burst.

Stress hormones flood my system, and every part of me that hasn't lost its sense of touch screams in agony.

And yet...I can't bring myself to blow the whistle.

Somehow, I endure every bit of anguish, persevere through the worst discomfort even when I don't want to, when every fiber of my being has truly given up.

All my feelings bubble out of me in an ugly, chaotic whirlwind, coming to blows with my conscience, their intensity heightening until they're all I can feel. See. Smell. Touch. Taste.

Just raw, uncensored emotion.

Refusing to concede until they win.

Until they wipe me out.

Suddenly, the electrocution stops, but the same can't be said for my tears, and I watch from behind the blurry gaze of barely open eyes as they drip off my chin and fall onto the floor, meshing into the streaky puddle of my bodily fluids.

And then I see a haze of blue.

But my eyes quickly flutter shut once more, falling without my permission, my body giving out completely.

I vaguely register a voice, deep and disgruntled, but too distant to make any sense of.

And then...nothing.

***

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