He Went Mad When I Tuned Out

Things had changed after Miranda's return to the country. She started constantly popping up in Rowan's life.

I started to feel insecure, started fighting with Rowan, and started becoming neurotic. Miranda deliberately provoked me.

I'd been tormented by depression for a long time now, but she kept rubbing salt in my wound. She knew I was sick, yet she only amped up for torture.

She sent me photos of her and Rowan in bed together, and even showed off the diamond ring he'd given her. She even called me to gloat when I was having the worst depressive episode of my life.

"Ro was with me last night, you know. He said you can't hold a candle to me."

Her words were like venom-soaked knives that stabbed me right in the heart.

When I told Rowan about my condition, he just said I was throwing a tantrum.

When I had a meltdown and started throwing things around, he said I was emotionally unstable.

When I went nights without sleep because I was so agonized, he said I was overthinking.

…

When I grabbed a blade and slashed my wrist, I couldn't even tell if I was still alive.

I lay in the bathtub, allowing my blood to slowly dye the warm water crimson. My phone screen was still lit up, and the last voice message Miranda sent me played out loud.

"Ro said nobody would care even if someone like you died." Her laughter was like a dull blade that sliced my nerves bit by bit.

I stared at the water stains on the ceiling. In my dazed state, they seemed to form a mocking face.

The wound on my wrist was deeper than I thought. Blood poured out from it, blooming into eerie flowers in the water.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel any pain. Instead, I felt relaxed and experienced a sense of release.

My phone buzzed again.

I mustered the energy to look at the message. Miranda had sent me a photo of Rowan holding her waist while whispering something into her ear.

She wrote, "He says he wouldn't bother going home to take a look at you, even if you were to die now."

My fingers twitched involuntarily, making the fruit knife I'd placed on the edge of the bathtub clatter to the floor.

A maid heard this and came searching for me. When she saw me, she screamed and bolted out of the room.

As I started drifting out of consciousness, I heard the bedroom door fly open. When Rowan kicked the bathroom door down, his eyes widened in shock.

The glaring crimson filled his vision, and my blood snaked across the tiles in a shocking trail.

He stumbled and fell, not even flinching as his knees smacked against the floor. He pressed his trembling fingers to my bleeding wrist.

"Wake up… Clara, look at me!" His voice was hoarse as he yelled, "Get an ambulance now!"

He roared toward the door, but his hands were cautious and gentle as he pulled me into his embrace. It was almost as if I really meant something to him.

In the ambulance, he held my hand tightly, refusing to let go even when the doctor wanted to check on my wound.

"Hang in there, Clara. I'm begging you. I can't live without you," he pleaded.