Sindoll

NORA'S POV.

He wasn’t at the wedding, He didn't show up at the reception and didn't clap when they kissed.

Didn’t toast. Didn’t sit through the speeches. Didn’t fake a smile. Didn’t offer a word.  He had a bloody frown on all day his hands twitching  continously  Like he didn't approve of the wedding  , we'll neither did I. I'd seen him roll a joint and smoke openly not giving  a single flying fuck about anyone's  opinion.

And no one asked why. Not my mom. Not her new husband. Not even a raised brow.Like she hadn’t noticed her new stepson vanished the second the vows ended. Like it didn’t matter that he bolted right after the church ceremony, face pale, lips tight, fists clenched like he was holding back a full-on explosion.

He looked like someone took a knife to his gut and left it there.

The newlyweds waved from the window, her hand on his shoulder like she’d never been happier. Giggling like she wasn’t ditching me with the last person on earth I’d choose to be alone with. Her hair bounced in the breeze, her smile too wide, too fake, too bright. Like the kind of light that blinds before it burns out.

I waved back. Because what else could I do?

Then I shut the front door and locked it.The house was big, Cold. Echo-y.  I kicked off my heels, My feet ached and my head spun.

I started up the stairs slowly, heels in hand now, like I might use them as weapons. My chest felt tight. Not like sadness. More like fury trying to climb out.

Halfway up, I paused. His door was closed. But lit. A soft, yellow light bled from beneath it.My hand twitched as I passed up towards my doorstep,  I pushed the door open—and time fractured. My brain tried to catch up. My body stiffened. My throat tightened, but no sound came out.

My room.My stuff was all destroyed, my Sketchbooks were slashed open torn to bits. The ones I never let anyone see. The ones I hid like sins were ripped straight through like they were trash.

My picture albums were burned. The metal tray is still sitting on the desk, glowing faint orange from heat. A little pile of black, curled paper curls like ash petals.My clothes ruined. My dresses sliced down the middle and were thrown like dirty laundry. My underwear drawer dumped, panties hanging from the lampshade. My bras strung across the fan blades like a joke.

And there—on my bed was Zane sitting like a king  like he owned it like he belonged there like I was the one interrupting. His arms were crossed over his chest,His face was unreadable. His having a mischievous glint to them.

“I’m being polite,” he said casually, like this was normal. “You wanna see me mad?”

I didn’t speak, didn't blink, I bloody didn’t think before I snapped . My body moved before my brain could catch up. I charged at him like something inside me broke loose and begged to kill.

I swung my curled fists, lunging at him. He caught my wrist twisting so hard that a loud grunt coursed free from my lips as he Slammed me back, My shoulder hit the wall with a crack. The breath rushed out of my lungs. His body followed. His arm pressed against my chest—not choking. Just there, heavy and dominating. Like he wanted me to know how easy it was.

“You throw like a brat,” he muttered with a bored expression and an eye roll. I shoved my palms against his chest but he didn’t budge.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” I spat, struggling. “You don’t know how to hurt people, so you go after their things. You break what you can’t be.”

His breath ghosted my cheek  Close. Too close. His voice dropped low.

“Your mom told my dad something interesting.”

I stilled, hating the sound of this, He smiled, looking like the devil himself, a shit eating grin splitting his face in half 

“About the tub.” The words sliced through me sharper than any blade I froze, my heart thumping hard in my chest, my face must have a paled of  color because his grin only grew wider.

“She said you took the pills, slipped under the water trying to drown while overdosing, you poor thing didn’t even leave a note. Just gave up, really? That was pathetic.”

I didn’t respond, my breath caught in my throat ,and my tongue became heavier for me to lift. My hands shook but he only kept going.

“Said you cried when you woke up. Begged her not to tell anyone, said you were going through a lot,and you were sorry,  But she told  Richard…. She told my daddy anyway. Said you were a fucking burden. Said she almost wished it worked.”

My legs went numb. My body is thrumming now as anger and hatred fuel my heart.

“She said the only thing worse than cleaning up after you was pretending she still loved you.” His words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be, they were needle, precise and jabbing at my heart a million times over

“Next time you want to fucking murder yourself, SinDoll? Do it outside. Save someone the cleanup.”

Something snapped. In my spine. In my ribs. In my hands. I grabbed the frame from the nightstand. The one with the cracked glass, it happened too fast, I didn't hesitate.

I  stabbed him, The edge of the glass drove into his side, just beneath his ribs. The sound he made was real a laugh… a fucking dark bark of laughter as he staggered back. His hand went to the wound. Blood pooled fast at the spot soaking his shirt.

I followed and stood over him.

“Do you ever talk to me like that again,” I said, voice shaking with pure rage and disgust in them, “I’ll slit you open so wide, they’ll need two body bags for what’s left.”

He blinked, dazed and somewhat looking pleased, still gripping his side. I leaned closer.

“I’ll aim for the neck next time. Or the eye. Or the spine. You won’t walk away.” I promised, every single strand of my sanity and swearing by it.

He laughed. Actually fucking laughed, Blood gushing from his side with his face twisted into something wild.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he muttered in a low , cold  manner, his  voice raw and drenched in sin.

I didn’t step back.

“You don’t get it,” he breathed out with a frustrated huff

“You’re mine. You were mine the second you let me touch you.”

My stomach turned a sickening twist deep in my guts 

“You were mine before they got married. Before I knew your name. Before I knew how easy you’d break. You actually stabbed me,” he said, breathless, blinking slowly. “You crazy little bitch.”

I took a step forward, glass shard still in my hand, slick with his blood.

“You break my shit, talk about my suicide attempt, act like you know me—what the fuck did you expect, a love letter?”

He laughed. . Deep and hoarse, his hand pressing to the wound like he didn’t feel a damn thing.

“No. But I expected you to wait until I finished the fucking sentence.”

“Oh, sorry,” I spat, stepping in until our chests nearly touched, my voice low, shaking but clear. “I thought you were done after ‘maybe next time die somewhere cleaner.’”

“You’ve got a flair for drama,” he hissed, the edge of a smirk twitching on his lips. “But you know what they say, right? You can’t kill what’s already broken.”

“Oh, I can try,” I whispered. He leaned in, close enough that I could smell the copper of his blood, the faint cologne drowning down my senses as I choked on the scent of all him.

“Try harder. Next time, don’t miss my heart. If I even have one.”

“You don’t,” I said flatly.

He smirked again.

“I used to think you were just a brat. Now I know you’re a liability. A walking, talking mess waiting to explode.”

“And you’re just another daddy’s disappointment with a dick too big for your ego.” His jaw twitched anger emanating through him.

“That hit something?” I cooked. “Tell me—does it hurt more than the stab wound, or less?”

I lunged again—this time not to stab, but to shove. Hard. He stumbled into the hallway wall, a smear of blood trailing after him.

“You’re a fucking monster,” I hissed. “And if you ever come near me again, I swear to God, I’ll slit you open and watch the black pour out.”

He laughed again. Blood on his teeth this time.

“You already did, sweetheart.”  he growled. “Because when I come for you, Nora, I’m not going to knock.”

He stepped closer, even as he bled. His eyes locked on mine.

“You want me dead? Get in line. But don’t forget—if I go down, I’m dragging you with me. I’ll carve your name into my fucking bones.” he threatened , his eyes narrowing into a slit,  awful nerve wrenching smile.

“I hope they bury us side by side so I can spit on your grave.”

“I’ll be smiling from mine.” he countered

“I hate you,” I said, quietly ,low but full on intent to hurt him, 

“I hate you more,” he answered, and it wasn’t quiet at all.

“And I will never, ever belong to you.”

He grinned, teeth red.

“You already do.”

I stepped back, chest heaving. My knees felt weak, and it had nothing to do with fear. It was something worse.

He turned to leave, dragging blood in his wake like a signature.

“You’ll pay for this, SinDoll,” he called over his shoulder.

“And when I’m done with you…”

He paused. Glanced back.

“I’ll have you. Screaming. Begging, broken and mine. My little SinDoll.” The way he said it, I knew it. Only   in the head spoke with such heavy possessiveness