I must’ve jumped to my feet at some point, too, because I’m standing with the sheet wrapped around me, closer to Hook’s bed than the steel table.
“You already look much better,” the doctor says jubilantly, reaching for a pair of gloves from his bag. “Shall we get you feeling one-hundred percent again?”
I nod, but I’m still in this daze where everything feels unreal. The speed in which my thoughts race, the images flitting through...
“Lay down right here for me, face down.” He instructs, patting the table.
My sights fly to Callan in hesitation. He nods, confidently, dropping onto the edge of his bed. “Has to be done, love. I’ll be right here to hold your hand.”
“The anesthesia should help quite a bit,” Ward chimes in. “You might still feel discomfort but—”
“I don’t want it,” I voice evenly.
Both the Captain and the doctor blanch in tandem. “What?”
“I don’t want it. If I’m going to do this, I need to feel all of it. When it’s done, I can finally let these demons go. I can finally be free.”
That’s what I’m hoping will happen at least.
“I don’t think that’s a—” the doctor begins, but Hook comes to my aid, vouching for my reasoning.
“She can handle it,” he vows.
My chin juts up at his words as I turn my attention back on Doctor Ward.
“You’re sure this is what you want, dear?” Doctor Ward snaps his gloves in place, brows cinched with worry.
I nod. “It’s the only way.”
And with that, I swivel the sheet so the ends drape behind me, and maneuver my way onto the table. The moment I’m situated, Callan reaches out without warning and pulls the table toward him, close enough that I can, in fact, feel him for support.
Taking my hands, he gives them a little squeeze and sets his head beside mine as Ward goes about basic preparations. “Breathe, nice and easy. I’m right here.”
Perhaps so, but that doesn’t take away from the immediate pang of terror I feel as the doctor applies the antiseptic.
Tears spring free long before I recognize their presence, trepidation weaseling its way back to the forefront of it all. The clanking and rustling of his tools is all I hear, along with the harsh echo of my anxious heartbeat roaring through my ears. I’m suddenly second-guessing my rejection of any pain management when the doctor sets a gentle hand just beneath my ring wing.
“I’m not going to sugar coat it—it’s going to hurt, and I deeply apologize for the pain you’ll feel under my hand. However, I’m going to work as quickly as possible. If it becomes too much to bear at any point, we can take a break.”
“No breaks,” I croak. “The faster we get this over with, the better.”
He doesn’t respond, but I sense the shifting of his body as he reaches for what I presume is a scalpel. Must be just that because Hook squeezes my hands again, prompting me to clench my eyes shut. I’m waiting for the final warning in sick anticipation, gut roiling, blood pumping.
It never comes.
One moment, the world around me is still, silent, and the next—I’m screaming, writhing in pain as the blade slices through the top of my wing. Layer upon layer, tendons and dead nerve endings are slivered, separating this essential part of me from my body. Warm streams of blood pour outward, down my back and onto the table, dripping onto the hardwood floors.
Doctor Ward’s hand may be delicate, but the scalpel is not. It’s unforgiving, much like the jagged rocks beneath the cliff.
Jump.
Again, that voice.
And again, I abide to its demand.
A few steps back and I throw myself into the air. My wings try to move in their rightful, instinctual state, but each flutter elicits a pain so sharp and so deep within me, I grow more crippled by the second.
Crying out.
Free-falling.
The asperous ground now closer than the cliff’s ledge.
It’s then I realize there’s no going back, there’s no saving me, that I’m going to die—a horrified scream breaking free from my—
I cry out again at the memory, the harrowing sound of my banshee-like shrill reverberating off the walls as Ward continues fileting his way through.
“No more, no more!” I screech, despite knowing damn well this is far from over, and the worst part is that, the further down he goes, the more I can feel every singular slice.
Seized by panic and hysteria, that’s when I start struggling, putting Hook in a position I know without a doubt he