In the twelfth year of loving Austin Hayes, he finally asked me to marry him. The night before our engagement party, the one who got away—Sierra—suddenly flew back into town. She casually mentioned that I’d let my dog bite her. For that, Austin shattered my limbs and had me dumped in the slums of Mumbai. In that forgotten hell, a countdown timer embedded itself in my mind. I was dying, but it wouldn't let me die. Three years later, Sierra’s men found me. They dragged my beggar's body back and threw me near Austin's estate. I don’t know what game she was playing. But it didn't matter. The countdown had three days left. I was finally going to be free. 1 I first saw him again on day one, by the trash cans at the edge of his property. At that moment, I was hunched over a dumpster, cramming a half-eaten burger laced with laxatives into my mouth. The countdown kept me from dying, but it didn't spare me from the gnawing hunger or the symphony of pain that was my body. I knew the food was tainted, but I didn't care. When you have nothing, the simple pleasure of a full stomach is a luxury worth any price, even dignity. Austin stood in the distance, his silhouette sharp against the evening light. His gaze, dark and unreadable, was fixed on me. "Mr. Hayes, let me handle this... thing," a voice beside him said nervously. "You shouldn't have to dirty your hands." "Just get her to a hospital for now," Austin's voice was a low rumble, a sound that sent a phantom tremor through what was left of my skin. "Finding Sophie is our priority." Sophie. A name I hadn't heard in years. My name. My head snapped down, and I crammed the rest of the filthy burger into my mouth, hiding my face. I couldn't let him recognize me. Not like this. "I don't care if you have to tear this city apart," Austin's voice grew colder, harder. "Find Sophie Collins!" "If it weren't for her, Sierra wouldn't have this condition!" "Only her blood can save Sierra now. This is all Sophie's fault!" "She owes Sierra this!" His words were like a surge of molten lead, flooding my veins before instantly turning to ice. He wasn't looking for me. He was looking for my blood. For Sierra. My empty eye sockets burned as if they were on fire. I tried to cry, but no tears came. My fingers only found a sticky, crusted mess. A rattling sound clawed its way up my throat, but no scream escaped. A sharp, sudden pain exploded in my lower back. A wooden stick. Rough hands grabbed me, and I was thrown onto the back of a utility vehicle. Blind and mute, I curled into the tightest ball I could manage, pressing myself against the cold metal floor, not daring to move. "God, who did she piss off?" one of the men whispered, his voice trembling. "To have her limbs broken, eyes gouged out, and tongue cut... and still be alive." I heard shuffling feet, the sound of someone gagging. I couldn't imagine what I looked like, but I knew it must be a canvas of rotting flesh and filth. Even the flies didn't linger long. I couldn't blame them for their disgust. "David," Austin's voice cut through the air, sharp and imperious. "Put the word out. Tell Sophie Collins she has three days to get her ass back here. Otherwise—" His voice dropped, laced with venom. "—we dig up her parents' ashes and flush them down the sewer." "If she won't save Sierra, then her parents can't rest in peace." Hearing this, I tilted my head, trying to see him in the suffocating darkness. He must have forgotten. My parents' ashes were already gone. The very night Sierra came back, he'd had them flushed down a toilet while I knelt on the floor, begging him, my pleas earning me nothing but a rain of kicks and punches. I never understood why. When Austin's parents moved abroad, it was my mother and father who raised him as their own. How could he do this? It was as inexplicable as him throwing me away to rot in India. Maybe he’d always loved a brilliant, beautiful girl like Sierra. Maybe I was just a fool who dared to dream. "Mr. Hayes, about Miss Collins's parents' graves…" David started, his tone hesitant. Austin cut him off. "This isn't my fault! Sophie is forcing my hand!" David fell silent, letting out a heavy sigh. How can you threaten a person who has no weaknesses left? "Sir... Miss Sierra already had their graves dug up three years ago. There's nothing there to threaten her with." I had more than no weaknesses; my ribs themselves were bent and broken. A grinding pain shot up from my shattered legs, the agony of bone grating against muscle. A low whimper escaped my throat as I forced my eyelids open to the familiar, endless black. "The patient's limb fractures are old," a doctor's voice explained later, shaking slightly. "The tissue is necrotic, infection is severe, and bone fragments are still embedded in the muscle." "The wounds where the eyeballs were removed are in a constant state of decay. Her vocal cords have been destroyed." The doctor faltered. I heard the sharp tap of knuckles against a clipboard. "What's worse, her internal organs are failing. Blood work shows chronic malnutrition and traces of unknown drugs." He paused. "And... for the last three years, she's been..." David gasped. "Medically speaking, with these kinds of injuries and infections, no one should survive more than three months," the doctor continued, his voice thick with a mixture of awe and horror. "I have no idea how she held on this long. It must be some sheer, stubborn will to live." Will to live? I had none. My parents were gone. There was nothing, and no one, left for me in this world. I was terrified of pain, yet I couldn't die. No one wanted death more than I did. The countdown in my head now read: 2 days. I was so close to freedom. "Doctor, her condition…" David asked, his voice full of pity. "There's no cure." I felt warm breath near my face, and I knew they were both looking down at me. "And what's most infuriating…" A cold, metal instrument touched one of my festering wounds. My entire body seized in a violent spasm, and a choked whimper rattled in my chest. I tried to raise a hand to protect myself, but my limbs were useless. But this time, no blow followed. The doctor’s voice returned, laced with sorrow. "David, look at this..." "Embedded in her wounds, at every joint... there are micro-cameras." "Every twitch, every festering sore, every time she swallowed… it was all being broadcast." The doctor's throat constricted, his voice breaking. I heard him sob. The man I’d known for a decade wanted me dead. This stranger, this doctor, was weeping for me. It explained so much. Why, over the past three years, strangers would sometimes appear out of nowhere, taunting me with bizarre words. I should have died three years ago. Instead, I was forced to endure this prolonged, grotesque existence. Silence filled the room. I wondered if they were sad for me. I didn't want my suffering to burden anyone else. I tried to wave a hand, to offer some impossible comfort, but my broken arm wouldn't even lift. "David," the doctor said, his voice trembling, "this young woman... she has an extremely rare blood type..." David said nothing. A moment later, the sound of urgent, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Expensive leather shoes clicked a brisk rhythm on the linoleum floor. "I saw the data from the system—we have a match for the rare blood type?" It was Austin. "Did Sophie finally grow a conscience and come back?" "I was just about to use that mutt of hers to threaten her. I can't believe she showed up on her own." His voice was a frantic, agitated mix of relief and rage. "Where is Sophie Collins?" A raspy sound escaped my throat. I'm right here, Austin. But you can't see me. When we were kids, playing hide-and-seek, you could always find me, no matter where I hid. How did we end up like this? Maybe I never should have loved you. If I hadn't, my parents would still be alive. And Daisy, the dog we raised together, she would be alive too. Tiny, brave Daisy. She threw herself in front of me to protect me, only to be beaten to death, blow by brutal blow, by Sierra’s men. Daisy was a fool, just like me. She probably died wondering why she and her master were being brutalized in their own home. I miss Mom, Dad, and Daisy. Just two more days. Then I’ll see them again. "Sir, we still haven't located Miss Collins," David said carefully. "But the woman you had me bring to the hospital…" I felt David's gaze on me. Without eyes, my other senses were sharp, tuned to the weight of a look. I could feel pity, mockery, disgust… David's gaze was heavy with guilt. I didn't know why he felt guilty. Then I felt Austin’s eyes on me. I didn't want him to see me, not like this. I tried to curl up, to hide my face, but even with all my strength, I couldn't cover myself. It didn't matter. My face was already ruined beyond recognition. Austin's gaze was also filled with guilt. But his was different from David's. "I'm sorry," he began, his voice strained. "I know this is an outrageous thing to ask, but I'm begging you. My fiancée is dying. She desperately needs a transfusion of your blood type." "Don't worry," he rushed on, "I'll give you anything you want. Whatever you ask for, I will make it happen." He reached out as if to grab my wrist, but then he saw my mangled limbs and recoiled, the scrape of his leather shoes loud in the quiet room. "I will compensate you. If you agree, just…" His eyes darted away, unable to look at me any longer. I knew what he was thinking. If you agree, blink your eyes. But I have no eyes. If you agree, wave your hand. But I can't move my arms. Seeing no response from me, his voice hardened with desperation. "I'm sorry! I have to take your blood!" He bit out the words, as if he were trying to convince himself more than me. "Mr. Hayes, she'll die!" David and a nurse cried out at once. I wanted to shake my head. Oh, I won't die. Even if you drained every last drop of blood from my body, the countdown wouldn't let me. But I had no way to tell them. "David, investigate her background! Find out who she is!" Austin commanded. "See if she has any last wishes, and fulfill them! If anything happens to her, I will make sure her family is compensated!" Under Austin’s orders, the doctors began to wheel my gurney toward the donation room. As we passed him, I felt his body tremble. A drop of sweat from his palm fell onto my arm. He always got sweaty palms when he was nervous. Was he going to break another promise? As they wheeled me away, I barely heard his guilt-ridden whisper, a mantra of self-justification. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! But if I don't do this, Sierra will die! Blame Sophie! Just blame Sophie!" The needle pierced my skin. I felt a bead of blood well up on my arm. They had stuck me with so many needles over the years, but it never stopped hurting. The pain was a living thing, blooming from my marrow and sending fire through every rotten wound on my body. I wanted to scream, but my throat could only produce that same, pathetic rasping. Whenever the pain was this bad, I always wondered: if I could just clench my fists, would it hurt a little less? But I couldn't even make a fist. I didn't dare struggle. I knew struggling only brought more pain. If I didn't do what they wanted, they punished me. Mom, Dad, and Daisy were gone. There was no one left to protect me. Through the haze of agony, I overheard the hospital's address. It was close to my old house. I want to go home… The thought was a desperate, primal scream in the silence of my mind. I want to go home! As the blood drained from my body, the pain began to recede, replaced by a deep, encroaching numbness. The countdown in my head finally ticked down to its last day. I was finally going to see them. Mom, Dad, Daisy. Joyful murmurs drifted from down the hall. Sierra, the one who got away, was recovering. I almost smiled. It had nothing to do with me. "Miss, where did you get this scar?" It was David's voice, full of confusion. I didn't know which scar he meant. My body was a roadmap of them now. What was one more? And I couldn't answer him anyway. All I wanted was to go home. But I couldn't say the words. They wheeled me back to an empty room and left me there, forgotten. The door wasn't fully closed. Gritting my teeth against a fresh wave of agony, I rolled off the bed and crashed to the floor. The hospital was close. I want to go home! With death so near, the urge was more powerful than anything I had ever felt. Mom, Dad, and Daisy were waiting for me at home. They had to be. I began to drag my broken body across the floor, crawling toward the hallway. I hate hospitals. I hate needles. I was always a sickly child, always sick. I knew this path by heart. Even blind, I could find my way home. The air outside was filled with festive noises. Everyone was congratulating Austin. Congratulating him on his bride's recovery, on the wedding they could now have. So Austin was getting married. That's nice. His parents would be so happy. But it didn't matter. I was almost home. The moment I reached my front street, an overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. I could almost see them. Mom and Dad, and Daisy at their feet, standing on our porch, smiling, waiting for me. The street exploded with the sound of firecrackers and drums. It was just like when the neighbor's son won an award; the whole street would celebrate. None of it mattered anymore. I saw Mom and Dad smiling, waving me over. I reached out, and they took my hand, just like they did when I was a baby. My body was whole again. No scars, no pain. I was finally home. I was dead.
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