True Memoirs of A Liar 2: Sacrifice
Author: C Lawson

Chapter 34
Camille's Punishment pt.2

I lifted one, bare, tender foot and took a step onto the sparkling glass path.  It was ironic, really, how beautiful it looked.  I hissed on an inhale and pressed down even more fully.  I cried out in hurt, suddenly keenly aware of my own mortality.  I lifted my right foot and took another step forward.  But when I did this, I had to put pressure on my other foot.  I bit my lip hard and grimaced.  Water dripped from my chin, dripped from my clothes, dripped from my eyes.  Oh, the last one was me crying.  My hair remained plastered to my face as I felt a piece of green glass slowly shove its way through my skin.

            This brutal, slow walk to the only exit continued for at least five minutes.  Every time I would get a piece of glass or sharp plastic out of one foot, five more would break the skin of my other foot.  Until I reached the river of knives that were laid out before me, I had been building a steady speed.  The knives with black handles like midnight grips and shiny silver blades that reflected my pained and horrified expression.

            Eight or ten minutes later, I opened the door, on hands and knees, bleeding, sweating, crying.  In short, I’d made an attempt at jumping across the strip of knives, but it was too thick and I’d ended up falling, rolling a few times in the glass.  I felt weak and broken.  I could still hear the glass. Shattering. Breaking.  I squinted against what seemed like the bright light of the hallway.  I’d been in the dark for a while.  I was crawling, looking without seeing, touching without feeling.  Arms were immediately wrapped around me, holding me.

            My head laid heavily on the chest of the body to which the arms belonged to.  My brain refused to cooperate.  I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and then tried to open them wide.  Alex’s face loomed over mine in concern. “My God—” his oath was cut off by my hollow groan. “Can I pick you up?”

            “I can walk,” I insisted quietly.  He tightened his hold on me when I tried to stand.

            “You’re bleeding too badly. Just let me help you for once in your stubborn life!” I couldn’t even glare at him.

            “Can you at least get all of the glass out of my feet?  There’s a big one in my leg too.”  Alex carefully sat outside of the practice room which I had resolved to call Hell Hole, and extricated the intruding glass and set it in a steadily building pile.  I whimpered, but was too tired to squirm or thrash or resist.  Besides, I knew what Alex was doing was only in my best interest.

            I didn’t watch him as he worked. I didn’t even glance down at him. “Camille, I don’t want to do this.” I asked him weakly what he meant. “Look,” he instructed. I lifted my head and stared at my thigh. “One of the blades of the knives—” I hushed him with a startled gasp.  When I fell after the attempted (and failed) leap of faith, the metal part of one of the smaller knives had lodged itself in my upper leg.  My whole body was trembling softly.  I was so ready to sleep.

            “Please Alex,” I whispered.  He held my gaze, as difficult a feat that must have been, what, with me being half-conscious and all.  He shook his head. I was going to have to guilt trip him. “Please, I’ve been through enough today. Just do this one thing for me. Please.” Determination settled in his unwavering stare and he wrapped his fingers safely around the blade.  I took a bunch of his shirt in my mouth and bit down hard on it.  I squeezed my eyes shut.

            “I’ve never done this before…do I do it fast?” I shrugged. I didn’t have much experience in the self-extrication of sharp pointy objects from my flesh.  Then it was gone.  Not the pain, for that was still in full affect, but the blade. I blinked and then screamed my lungs out. Alex was picking me up as my body told me it was clearly finished and just before my mind packed up its guitar and went home.  Blacking out, I whispered, “Ow.”

 

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