The Sister He Hated

I wish you were dead.

My brother, Hayes, actually said those words to me once. Hate isn't a strong enough word for what he felt.

So, I gave him what he wanted.

Stomach cancer.

But when I finally diedsmiling right in front of himhe didn't celebrate. He shattered. He lost his damn mind.

It started the day I got the diagnosis. I was clutching the crumpled medical report, my knuckles white, when his name flashed on my phone.

He opened with an interrogation.

Cold. Merciless.

Chapter 1

My phone vibrated in my hand just as I unlocked the front door.

Hayes.

I stared at the screen. The diagnosis report in my bag was already a tight, sweaty ball of paper.

Hayes never called first.

"Dad's birthday was two days ago."

His voice could freeze hell over. Typical.

"Why didn't you come home?"

"Didn't feel like it," I said, cutting him off. "You went. That's enough."

"Brittany flew all the way back from Europe."

Brittany. My cousin. The foster sister. The golden child.

"Good. She's there. Since she's the only sister you actually claim, you didn't need me."

Silence on the other end. Then, a snap of anger. Low. Warning.

"Harlow."

I pressed the red button.

The line went dead.

The last streak of sunset bled out across the floorboards.

I sat at the dining table and pulled the diagnosis out of my bag. I didn't read it again. I just started tearing.

Rip. Rip. Rip.

White confetti rained down on the dark wood. Just as the last piece fell, my screen lit up again.

A text from Hayes.

Mom's anniversary is coming up.

Hayes. My brother. My tormentor.

He hates me. It's not just a sibling rivalry; it's a blood feud.

Because I killed Catherine.

Twenty-something years ago, our mother, Catherine, went into labor. I took my first breath, and she took her last right there on the operating table.

A life for a life.

My birth was a murder disguised as a miracle.

No one celebrated my arrival. Leonard lost the love of his life. Hayes lost his mother.

I was the villain in their tragedy from day one.

I didn't skip Leonard's birthday to be a brat.

I skipped it because pain had doubled me over in the bathroom until black spots danced in my vision. That was the first red flag. The first sign that my body was turning against me.

But honestly? My absence was probably the best gift I could have given them.

Hayes didn't text again.

The next morning, I stood outside the corporate headquarters, sucking in a jagged breath of city air.

After graduation, I joined his company. Started at the bottom. Climbed my way up, tooth and nail.

And no one knew.

I was a ghost in his machine. To the rest of the staff, I was just another employee. We barely spoke. I saw him less than the interns did.

Last week, a senior exec walked. Rumor mill said the VP spot was mine.

Everyone said it was a lock.

Before I held that death sentence of a paper in my hand, I thought so too.

Chapter 2

I bumped into Taylor in the hallway. She flashed a grin and leaned in close, practically vibrating with energy.

"Don't forget, drinks are on you when the promotion is official, Harlow."

I kept my gaze low, forcing a small smile. "Nothing is set in stone."

"Please. It's yours," she said, hooking her arm through mine. "You're the only one here who actually deserves it."

We walked into the conference room.

Hayes was already there.

Our eyes locked for a nanosecond before I severed the connection. I looked away, treating him like a stranger.

"Mr. Jiang."

He didn't even look up. Just a stiff, mechanical nod.

You'd never guess we'd been screaming at each other forty-eight hours ago.

The room filled up. Chairs scraped against the floor.

Hayes cleared his throat. Taylor nudged me under the table, winking.

I stared at my notepad.

Then, the name dropped like a bomb.

"Brittany."

A familiar figure glided through the door. Slim, elegant, radiating that effortless grace she'd perfected years ago. Her smile was soft, practiced.

Hayes stood next to her, presenting her to the room like a trophy.

"Ms. Tang has just returned from Europe. She will be taking over the position of Vice President."

The air left the room.

Heads turned toward me. I could feel the weight of their pity, the confusion.

I didn't blink. I just looked at Brittany standing on that podium, smiling like she owned the place.

The silence stretched. A suffocating, awkward tension.

I lifted my hands.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

My applause was lonely and sharp, breaking the spell. A few others joined in, hesitant and scattered.

Brittany caught my eye. Her brows curved into a sweet, innocent crescent.

The break room coffee was overwhelmingly strong.

I stirred it with a plastic spoon, staring into the black liquid. I took a sip. Acid burned its way back up my throat, settling into a sour knot in my stomach.

Taylor was seething. Her eyes were wide, incredulous.

"Are you kidding me? A nepo baby hire? She just waltzes in and steals your spot? Is this a joke?"

"Harlow, say something! You aren't pissed?"

She slammed her hand on the counter. "That office belongs to you. You nearly hospitalized yourself for that project last month."

She scanned my face, her anger softening into concern. "Seriously, look at you. You look like hell. Stop killing yourself for this place."

The heat from the ceramic mug seeped into my cold palms.

"Mr. Jiang has his reasons," I murmured.

Taylor's eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to argue, to spill more grievances, but a ringtone slashed through the quiet.

It was mine.

I answered. Hayes' voice filled the small room, leaking suppressed fury.

"Harlow. My office. Now."

My hand jerked.

Hot coffee sloshed over the rim, soaking into the cuff of my white blouse. The liquid scalded my skin.

I didn't flinch. The pain was grounding.

"On my way."

I pushed the door to the CEO's office open.

Brittany was perched on the leather sofa, head bowed, clutching a piece of paper like a lifeline.

Hayes sat behind his desk. A statue of ice and repressed violence.

People always said we shared nothing but blood. Except the eyes.

We both had those upturned corners. Cold. Distant. Unreadable.

Too bad neither of us ever smiled enough to warm them up.

Chapter 3

Hayes never smiled at me. Not once.

"Brittany might have parachuted in, but she has the talent to back it up."

"Harlow."

My name tasted like poison in his mouth. His brows slammed together, forming a deep V.

"If you have a problem, say it to my face. Instead, you gossip. You turn the staff against her. You isolate her."

He leaned forward, palms flat on the desk.

"Is the cruelty just wired into your DNA, Harlow? Is that it?"

It had only been four hours since the announcement.

I glanced at Brittany.

She caught my gaze.

Her skin was flawless, glowing with youth. Her eyes were rimmed red, glistening with unshed tears that caught the light perfectly.

She looked down immediately, shrinking away like a frightened animal.

The stage was set. The actors were hitting their marks. They were waiting for my cue to play the villain.

But I was done reading from their script.

"I can't control what people say." I shrugged, my voice flat. "Maybe they just have eyes."

I paused.

"People aren't stupid, Hayes."

A sob choked out of Brittany.

Crack.

Hayes swept his arm across the desk in a violent arc.

His expensive fountain pen hit the wall, shattering on impact.

Black ink splattered, bleeding into the carpet near my shoes like a dark stain.

"Harlow! You"

I didn't let him finish.

I dropped a single sheet of paper onto the mahogany. It landed softly between us.

Hayes choked on his rage. He looked down. Read the header.

His head snapped up, eyes blazing.

"Harlow!"

"Are you a child?"

"Are you doing this out of spite?"

He crushed the crisp white paper in his fist. He hurled the ball at me. It landed near my feet, right in the pool of ink.

It wasn't a tantrum.

I learned that lesson a long time ago.

Tantrums are for kids who have someone to comfort them.

I had no one.

"I'll take a copy to HR myself."

I turned on my heel.

The heavy door slammed shut behind me, slicing off his shouting.

I didn't get far.

Footsteps clicked rapidly on the tile.

"Harlow."

Brittany. Her voice was thick with fake tears. She reached out, her fingers brushing mine.

"Harlow, please. Don't be mad. I don't want the job. I'll tell Hayes to give it back. Just don't leave."

She sniffled.

"I shouldn't have come back. I'm ruining everything between you two. It's all my fault."

The hallway was empty. Dead silent.

I stopped.

I turned to face her.

Brittany had mastered the art of the Doe Eye. The red rim, the pink nose, the trembling lip. It was weaponized innocence. It always worked.

It was the same look she wore ten years ago when she first invaded my home.

"Brittany."

I took a step forward. I invaded her space.

My hand shot out, fingers locking onto her jaw. I tilted her face up, forcing her to look at me.

"This routine? It never gets old for you, does it?"

"Right?"

The color drained from her face. She went pale as a sheet.

Ding.

The elevator arrival bell cut through the tension.

I released her jaw.

I didn't look back as I stepped into the open car.

She stood frozen in the hallway, staring at nothing.

Chapter 4

I forced a smile. It felt sharp enough to cut glass.

"Cut the act, Brittany. You know as well as I doHayes and I? We don't do the whole 'family' thing."

I leaned back as the steel doors began to slide shut.

"Funny thing is you're the only sister he's ever actually wanted."

The doors kissed shut, severing her view of me.

My reflection stared back from the brushed metal. Dead eyes. A flat, emotionless mask.

Then, the pain hit.

A rusty knife twisted deep in my gut.

I doubled over, clutching my stomach, breath hissing through my teeth. The cramps were getting worse.

It wasn't always a war zone.

Back in the beginning, before the cancer and the corporate sabotage, Hayes and I were just existing.

He didn't like me. That was clear. But he wasn't cruel.

Leonard treated me like furniture. He looked right through me. So, naturally, I clung to the crumbs Hayes dropped. He was my brother. We shared blood. I told myself that had to count for something.

I held onto that delusion until middle school.

Until Brittany moved in.

That's when the illusion shattered. I watched him with her.

He smiled. He laughed. He didn't tell her to get lost. He didn't look at her like she was a disease he couldn't shake.

Oh, I realized. That's what a brother looks like.

But Brittany wasn't satisfied with just being loved. She needed to be the only one.

Day five of her transfer to my middle school.

I walked through the front door, backpack sliding off my shoulder, and

Crack.

My head snapped to the side.

The sting on my cheek was instant, burning hot. The sound of the slap echoed in the foyer.

I cupped my cheek, staring at him in shock.

Hayes stood over me, chest heaving, spitting words like bullets.

Bully.

Psycho.

Vicious.

Apologize.

I looked past his shoulder. Brittany was tucked behind his back, gripping the hem of his shirt. Her head was down, playing the victim perfectly.

The puzzle pieces clicked. She'd spun a story, and he'd bought the whole damn library.

I tried to speak. I tried to explain.

He shut me down.

The bias was so loud it was deafening. It broke something inside methat stupid, naive hope that I could earn his love.

Hayes wasn't an idiot. He knew Brittany. He knew me.

He just didn't care.

He wanted a reason to hurt me. He wanted a justification for the hate that had been festering since the day Mom died.

After that slap, I stopped trying to be good.

If I couldn't be loved, I'd be a problem.

I was young and stupid. I thought negative attention was better than being invisible. I'd rather he scream at me than look through me like Leonard did.

At least when we were screaming, I existed.

We spent years at each other's throats. Constant friction. Constant noise.

Until I turned eighteen.

That was the year I got dragged into hell.

After that night, the war ended abruptly. No more screaming. No more hysterics.

We just froze.

We became ghosts haunting the same hallways. We didn't fight; we just pretended the other person didn't exist.

By the time I finished the paperwork and got back to the apartment, the city was ink-black.

The streetlights in my complex were dead.

I stood in the dark, looking across the street. Warm, yellow light spilled from a neighbor's window. It looked cozy. Safe.

Everything I wasn't.

Chapter 5

The cramps hadn't stopped since the afternoon. They were a living thing now, twisting my insides.

I curled up on the sofa, a trembling knot of hunger and agony.

I forced myself up. Dragged my feet to the kitchen.

I yanked the refrigerator door open.

A wall of rot hit me. The smell of decay was thick, suffocating. I realized I hadn't opened this thing in a month.

I grabbed a handful of wilted greens. Ran them under the tap.

I dropped them on the cutting board.

Chop.

Chop.

The rhythm was off. My hands were shaking.

Slice.

Sharp pain.

A drop of bright crimson landed on a dark green leaf. It bloomed like a poisonous flower.

I froze.

The sting radiated from my fingertip, grounding me. But the sight of the blood it woke something up.

The impulse roared to life. I couldn't stop it.

The knife shifted in my hand.

It didn't aim for the vegetables.

Slash.

A new line joined the chaotic spiderweb of old scars.

From my elbow down to my wrist.

The knife clattered to the floor.

I collapsed onto the tile, gasping for air. My lungs burned. I couldn't breathe.

I was losing control. The darkness was winning.

Dr. Bailey's voice echoed in the back of my skull.

Take your meds when the episodes start, Harlow.

I didn't take them.

Surround yourself with family, she had said, her voice soft. Communicate. Let them love you. It helps the healing process.

Family.

I stared at the blood winding down my arm.

What family?

I didn't eat. The greens went into the trash.

Hunger and pain wrestled for dominance until my body shut down. I blacked out on the floor.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Morning.

The knocking pulled me out of the void.

I peeled myself off the floor, stumbling to the door. I cracked it open, blinking against the harsh hallway light.

Hayes.

He stood there, frost clinging to his eyebrows. His face was a mask of indifference.

Panic spiked.

Slam.

I threw the door shut in his face. The deadbolt clicked.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I threw on a thick hoodie and changed into long pants.

Armor.

I unlocked the door again.

Hayes hadn't moved. His gaze swept over my face, his eyes piercingly cold.

"What do you want?"

I skipped the pleasantries.

His eyes dropped.

He was staring at my wrist. The sleeve had ridden up just enough.

A small, colorful tattoo peeked out from the skin.

Hayes narrowed his eyes.

"You're tattooing your arms now?"

I didn't answer.

He took my silence as a confession. The indifference in his eyes cracked, replaced by a familiar disgust.

"You insist on hanging around that thug, and now you're turning yourself into trash just like her. Is that it?"

Hayes had always known how to hurt me.

When we fought, we didn't use fists. We used words sharpened into shivs, aiming for the vitals.

But he crossed a line.

He could insult me. He could hate me.

But he couldn't talk about Parker.

Parker was my only friend. My best friend.

My lifeline.

Chapter 6

The smell of stale tobacco clung to him. It invaded my nose, triggering a violent gag reflex.

My stomach lurched. A vein throbbed against my temple, visible and erratic.

The cramps in my gut, which had just started to fade, twisted tight again. My grip on the door handle slipped. My hands were shaking too hard to hold on.

I snapped.

I swung my hand.

But the impact never came.

Hayes caught my wrist mid-air. His grip was iron.

His warm fingers pressed directly against the raised, jagged ridges of my old scars.

I saw it. The crack in his armor. Genuine, frozen shock.

"The scars on your wrist what are"

I didn't let him finish.

My free hand flew.

Slap.

His head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint bloomed instantly on his pale cheek.

I had put everything I had into that strike.

The scent of tobacco wrapped around my throat like a noose. Cold terror clawed its way up from my ankles, freezing my blood.

I ripped my arm from his grip.

His fingers had left red welts on my skin, mingling with the white scar tissue.

It wasn't a tattoo.

I clasped my hands together, squeezing until my knuckles turned white, trying to ground the tremors.

"Harlow"

"Get out."

My eyes bored into the floorboards. I couldn't look at him.

"Don't touch me."

I screamed it this time.

"Get out!"

Silence. Then the sound of footsteps retreating.

He was gone.

I bolted for the bathroom.

I turned the tap to freezing. I scrubbed. I scoured the skin where he had touched me with a rough towel.

Harder. Harder.

The scar tissue tore.

Blood swirled with the icy water, a mesmerizing red spiral against the white porcelain.

I gripped the sink, heaving, gasping for air until my lungs burned.

The adrenaline crash finally hit.

At noon, the buzzer rang. Delivery.

I spread the takeout containers across the coffee table like a banquet. The grease, the spicesthe smell hit me.

My stomach, empty for two days, roared in surrender.

I didn't eat. I gorged.

I shoved food into my mouth with chopsticks until I couldn't breathe. I filled the void until it hurt.

Then the revolt started.

My stomach rejected the intrusion. The nausea was violent.

I scrambled back to the bathroom tiles. I retched until there was nothing left but bile.

I collapsed on the cold tile, my dress soaking up the water from the floor.

The pain was vivid. It felt like dying.

I pulled out my phone. My thumb hovered over the screen. I scrolled back.

The thread had been dead for a month.

Parker: What did you eat today?

I never answered.

I hadn't told her about the diagnosis either.

Five years.

Long enough to carve her name into my soul. Short enough to scroll to the top in twenty minutes.

Are you sure you want to delete this conversation?

The red letters burned my retinas.

A fresh wave of agony ripped through my stomach. It was a sign. Do it.

I tapped the screen.

Gone.

Five years of memories vaporized. My last tether to this world, severed.

The day Dr. Reynolds handed me the death sentence, he looked me in the eye, earnest and desperate.

"It's Stage IV, Harlow. But with aggressive chemo? If we're optimistic? You could have two, maybe three years."

I had smiled.

I thanked him.

But I never said yes.

Chapter 7

I had no anchor. No reason to stay tethered to this earth.

Besides, Hayes wanted me dead. He'd made that wish crystal clear.

I existed in a fugue state for days. Time dissolved.

My life shrank to a vicious, biological loop.

Starve. The gnawing emptiness.

Binge. The frantic stuffing of the void.

Purge. The violent rejection.

I was consuming myself.

I only snapped out of it when I checked my phone. The date glared back at me. It was almost time.

I needed a dress.

I dragged myself to the bathroom mirror. The reflection was a stranger.

My cheeks had hollowed out. My skin was translucent, ghostly pale. The cancer was carving me down to the bone.

I painted on a mask of foundation and lipstick. Armor.

The mall was quiet. A weekday ghost town.

I drifted through the floors, aimless, until a flash of white caught my eye.

A dress. Pristine. Simple.

I walked into the boutique.

Savannah, the sales associate, beamed and hurried over. I raised a finger to point at the mannequin.

"Hayes, look! That white dress is stunning."

The voice was sugar-sweet. Sickeningly familiar.

Fate has a twisted sense of humor.

Brittany walked in. Her gaze collided with mine.

Her eyes went roundperfect doe eyes, practiced to convey maximum innocence.

"Harlow!"

She chirped my name like we were best friends. Like she hadn't destroyed my life.

Hayes stood in the doorway.

He looked at me with eyes like flat stones. Cold. Unfeeling.

What a picture. The golden sister returns from Europe, and the doting brother takes her shopping.

I curled my lip. I didn't bother speaking to them.

I turned back to Savannah.

"That dress. Size Medium. Wrap it up."

"I'll take that one too. Medium."

Brittany's voice overlapped mine.

We both pointed at the same mannequin.

Savannah froze. She looked between us, her professional smile faltering.

"I'm so sorry, ladies. That dress has been flying off the shelves. The one on the mannequin is the last Medium we have."

She clasped her hands. "I can check our other locations? Or maybe another style?"

Brittany frowned. A tiny, delicate crease appeared between her brows.

"Well, maybe"

"I said wrap it up."

I cut her off. My voice was steel.

Savannah nodded quickly, sensing the alpha in the room. She turned to dismantle the mannequin.

"Harlow."

Brittany's voice dropped. Soft. Pleading.

I looked at her. "What?"

"Can you let me have this one?"

She tilted her head, the picture of humility.

"You know how much I love white dresses. And you well, you never really wear skirts, do you?"

The audacity.

She actually had the nerve.

I glanced at Hayes.

He was looking at the floor, silent. Allowing it. Enabling it.

It was laughable.

Years go by, and nothing changes. The dynamic was set in stone.

Everything she wanted, I had to yield.

Toys. Clothes. Grades.

My family.

"No."

The word was a door slamming shut.

Chapter 8

Brittany choked.

She watched me take the bag from the sales clerk, and immediately, the waterworks started. Her eyes filled with instant, weaponized tears. She hung her head, retreating to Hayes' side like a wounded bird.

Hayes leaned down. Whispered something low and soothing.

Brittany perked up instantly. Her eyes crinkled into a smile, and she looped her arm through his, squeezing tight.

Then, she shot me a glance.

A smirk tucked into the corner of her mouth.

Look, it said. My brother belongs to me now.

The dress didn't matter. The fabric, the cut, the price tagirrelevant.

She just wanted to prove a point. She needed me to see that Hayes chose her. Every single time.

Who cares?

It's been the same story for a decade.

Time blurred.

My body was failing. The decline was steep and fast.

Hayes didn't call.

I stared at the calendar, marking off the days. I was counting down to my own expiration date.

Then, the phone buzzed. A text from Brittany.

An invitation to a charity gala.

Followed by a chaser:

Harlow, Hayes is really worried about you. This is a perfect chance for you two to make up. Please come.

Her ability to play the innocent peacemaker while lighting the match was truly world-class.

I looked at the date.

I decided to go.

The ballroom was a glittering hellscape.

Chandeliers assaulted my eyes. The clinking of crystal and the roar of mindless chatter battered my eardrums.

I had been rotting in silence for too long. The noise felt like a physical weight pressing against my chest.

I spotted them.

Hayes and Brittany stood near the center, holding court.

Hayes turned. His gaze landed on me.

His expression shiftedtightened. He angled his body toward me but didn't take a step.

He was waiting. Waiting for me to cross the room. To bow. To initiate the peace treaty.

Not happening.

Brittany turned. She saw me.

Her face lit up with that plastic smile, and she started walking my way.

I pivoted on my heel.

I turned my back on the party and headed straight for the exit.

The balcony was empty. The wind whipped against my skin, cold and biting.

I leaned against the stone railing, letting the noise of the party fade into a dull hum behind the glass doors. I checked my watch. Calculated the bare minimum time I had to stay before I could escape home.

Suddenly, hands clamped onto my shoulders.

I was yanked backward into a hard, unfamiliar chest.

Tobacco smoke filled my lungsthick, stale, and suffocating.

My stomach revolted instantly. Bile clawed up my throat.

I shoved the stranger away, stumbling back.

That's when I saw Brittany.

She was standing just inside the glass doors, looking out. She blinked those big, innocent eyes at me.

My phone vibrated in my clutch.

I pulled it out. A new message from her.

Harlow! That's Tanner. He saw you and asked for an introduction, so I brought him over.

He's a really good guy. You two should get to know each other!

My fingers flew across the screen.

I don't wa

I didn't finish.

A hand locked around my wrist.

Tanner.

His gaze raked over me, dropping to my chest, then sliding away without a trace.

That look.

It triggered a landslide of old terror.

I slapped his hand away. Hard.

"Don't touch me."

My stomach was empty, but my body tried to purge anyway. I dry heaved, backing away until my spine hit the stone railing.

He stepped closer.

I inched back. There was nowhere left to go.

Chapter 9

Dim lighting.

Thick, choking smoke.

A looming, towering silhouette.

Snap.

The last thread of my sanity didn't just fray; it severed.

My hand dove into my clutch.

I gagged, bile burning my throat, as my fingers closed around cold steel. The switchblade.

My grip was weak. My hands shook uncontrollably.

Click.

The blade sprang out.

I didn't aim. I just swung. A frantic, blind slash at the darkness enclosing me.

The knife bit into skin.

A line of crimson sprayed into the air, staining my vision red.

"Harlow!"

A hand struck my wrist. Hard. Bone against bone.

The knife clattered onto the stone tiles, the blade catching the cold moonlight.

"Have you lost your damn mind?!"

Hayes' voice boomed like thunder.

I couldn't answer. I was choking. Invisible hands crushed my windpipe. A vein in my temple throbbed so hard I thought it would burst.

I clamped a hand over my mouth. My eyes were dry, burning, incapable of tears.

Haa. Haa.

I gasped for air, ragged and wet. Like a dying animal cornered in a trap.

Then, a flutter of fabric. Brittany floated onto the balcony.

She saw the blood. She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Oh my god! What happened? Tanner, you're bleeding!"

She turned her wide, fearful eyes on him. "You said you liked her! You said you just wanted to talk!"

Tanner clutched his arm, his face twisted. "I didn't do anything! I walked up to say hi and she pulled a knife on me!"

"Hayes."

Brittany turned to my brother, her voice trembling. "I know Tanner. He's a good guy. He wouldn't"

The implication hung in the air like poison.

Harlow is the psycho. Harlow is the danger.

Adrenaline surged through my exhaustion.

I lunged. My hand raised to wipe that look off her face.

But I never reached her.

Hayes shoved me.

The force sent me stumbling back. My legs, weak from starvation and cancer, gave out.

I hit the cold stone floor. Hard.

I looked up.

Three silhouettes loomed over me. Judge, jury, and executioner.

My stomach screamed.

My eyes burned.

My skull felt like it was splitting open.

Every single cell in my body was shrieking in agony.

I felt like a broken machine, gears grinding, circuits frying. My brain was a static haze.

Hayes' voice cut through the noise. Cold. Disgusted.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Harlow."

He stepped closer, looking down at me like I was something he scraped off his shoe.

"Are you sick?"

Harlow.

Are you sick?

Are you

Sick?

I wanted to cry.

But the tears wouldn't come. I was too dehydrated, too hollowed out.

I reached out, gripping the rough stucco of the wall. I clawed my way up, inch by agonizing inch.

I leaned against the doorframe, fighting gravity just to stay upright.

"Yes."

My voice was a whisper. A broken rasp.

"I am sick."

I don't have much time left.

My stomach cramped violently.

I knew there was no food in there. Nothing to purge.

But then, a taste hit the back of my throat.

Sweet.

Metallic.

Warm.

I coughed.

Thick, dark blood gushed past my lips.

It splattered down the front of my white dress. It dripped onto the expensive tile.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I looked up.

Hayes froze.

His eyes locked onto the red stain spreading across my chest