The Bone Cutter

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Inanis's POV

Today they begged me to take the medication. They wanted me to take this seriously. They wanted me to not screw it up. They said my focus is priority. They said if I lose focus, it'll all go to shit.  

Maybe I wanted to screw it up. I hate being serious. Maybe I should take this seriously. I hate priorities. I like doing things well.

It's not like she was going to take it seriously. She doesn't even want to marry me.

But then again, the world would be watching.

I paced the room, my mind whirling with thought after thought -as it always does. One minute I find myself thinking about how much I have to do because there are always, always things to do. The next I could be wondering if God really does exist.

Does he?

The woman going through my wardrobe held up a suit, "Here it is." She spoke proudly of the outfit in her hands, "I had it professionally made, hand stitched with the finest threads and materials. I picked the colors so they'd match the wedding theme-"

"That is repulsive, I don't like it."

The smile fell from her face, "What?"

"I. don't. like. It." I waved my hand, "Find something else, something dazzling, something vibrant, something that is not that."

"Sir I don't know how-" I stopped paying attention, my eyes drifted to the window and I wondered if I'd live if I jumped from this level. I thought about paying someone to try it. Maybe they'd do it. Maybe they'd die.

I didn't realize I was smiling until her voice broke me from my thoughts again, "Sir?"

I turned to her, "What?"

"We have no time to find a better suit."

"Then make time."

She stared at me for a long moment. I knew she hated me. I knew she wanted me to die by my own cleaver.

I wonder what that is like; to die on television. Is it humiliating, or are you too scared to care?

Am I scared of death? I can't decide. What is it like to die?

I realized I was zoning off again. I shook my head, frustrated. I was frustrated at myself. I was frustrated at them or being right. Mirea was right, and it was irritating. Everything I do is irritating. I should take the medication. I hate taking it.

I should though. Will I? I think I will.

"Change of plans." I tell the woman, taking the hideous suit from her and throwing it aside, "Go fetch me the medication." The medication, not my medication. I made sure to emphasize the fact that I will never claim ownership to such a disgusting toxicity.

Her eyes widened then, and I realized I was just as shocked as her. I never take the medication, I never let that poison in my body. It was a rare endeavor.

It makes me feel numb. I remember the feeling, because it wasn't a feeling at all. I felt nothing, I could barely even think because nothing mattered at all.

I'd rather think too much than feel nothing at all.

And what is it I should be feeling? I'm getting married shouldn't I feel every emotion today? Shouldn't I be happy and sad and angry at myself all at once?

The woman rushed out of the room, and I bit back the words that tried to crawl up my throat, "Don't." I wanted to say, "I don't want that poison anywhere near me."