The box jerked suddenly, and I tumbled around. They were placing me somewhere. Probably the hole. God, this really was my funeral. And then I heard it… The soft sounds of soil hitting the lid. They’re burying me alive. All my worst nightmares had come true. I panted, but I could hardly draw any air in. Was I suffocating already? Had I sucked too much air into my lungs in such a short amount of time? No, I tried to reason, that wasn’t possible. I was having a panic attack. I went lightheaded, and for a second, I welcomed the dizziness, hoping I’d just fall unconscious and be put out of my misery.

I shook my head at the feeling, determined to stay awake. I screamed again and tried pounding on the wood around me with my shoulders and even my head. I was exhausting myself for no reason. I didn’t understand why I was fighting when it was futile. It was like my will refused to die.

The sounds of soil hitting the box ended minutes later, and I couldn’t hear anything else. My ears swallowed nothing but my loud frantic breaths.

“No, please no,” I whimpered. “No, I’m not ready. I’m not ready.”

My mind was already firing images of my grandmother, of my own mother, of Borden… I shook my head, frantically pushing the images away, unwilling to accept the truth. But they came at me anyway.

Grandmother’s voice. Random memories flashing through my mind.

8 years old: I found these rollerblades and I bought them with the last of my money. Try them on. They’re pink!

10 years old: You’re my princess, Emma, no matter how old you are. You will always be my Princess Emma.

13 years old: Don’t blame yourself. Your mother’s death wasn’t your fault. I love you. I will always love you, and I will never leave you.

14 years old: If you’re going to be leaving the house often, take this knife here and put it somewhere nobody will find. Always arm yourself. It’s a dark world, and you’re too beautiful for it.

16 years old: Let’s talk birth control.

18 years old: He’s a fool to cheat on you. Only a fool would let you go.

20 years old: I didn’t ask you to come over for a specific reason, but now that you’re here, I’ve set you up on a blind date. He’s a very handsome man.

22 years old: I’m so proud of you, Emma. Just for being you. No other reason.

I shook my head again at the images. No! But even as I said no, my body stopped moving. I was exhausted both emotionally and physically. I closed my eyes, relishing in the small circulating air around me. How long did it take for somebody to die in a coffin anyway? It was cruel really. Facing death like this with no way of stopping it. I was going to have to confront my life and all my failures and all I’d leave behind in the time it took to consume every litre of air around me.

I cried so hard, my eyes hurt and the tears stung along my raw cheeks. My nose blocked and at some point more bile rose up my throat. I dry heaved and coughed and cried some more.

And then I was completely and utterly spent.

The weight of the soil created stress, and the wood above me strained and groaned, splintering it. It made the experience all the more real. I felt like the walls were closing in on me, and I sucked in more air, seized with sadness so heavy it hurt.

Maybe I could just fall asleep instead. Maybe I wouldn’t feel my soul slipping away. I kept my eyes closed and imagined Marcus holding me, running his hand through my hair, kissing me with those luscious lips. For some reason that eased the pain in my chest. It gave me something to cling to.

It’s all your fault, Marcus.

I still don’t care, either. I’m your doll. I’ll always be your doll.

Seventeen

Emma

Scratch.

Scratch, scratch.

My eyes whipped open to the sounds. It was coming from the coffin lid. You’re hallucinating. You’ve probably had the last of the air. You’re starting to suffocate. I shook my head trying to clear it. Was I really hallucinating? My heart sped up as the sounds continued.

“Help,” I weakly said, my voice drained of energy. “Please, help.”

My throat was raw and it hurt to talk. The pain in my back where my wrists were digging into had worsened to the point I couldn’t move without wincing in excruciating pain. I was half-convinced I was dreaming, that the noise of something dragging along the surface of the coffin was in my head. But it was too vivid. My hearing was all I currently had in the blackness, and it couldn’t be wrong.

“Please,” I begged, crying. “Please, help me.”

Crack!

Crack!

The box jerked and my heart spiked. It was the only part of my body that was still working strong. But the rest of me was a pile of limp bone and flesh. I continued to stare at the blackness, blinking away the dizziness in my head. I felt so tired. So goddamn tired.

You’re suffocating slowly.

Suddenly I heard a loud grunt followed by a deep angry growl. The sound was absolutely monstrous.

Crack! CRACK!

The wood stressed above me, and then it broke through violently. Fresh air and grains of soil fell against my face as the lid forcefully opened. The darkness broke and the first thing I saw was a large hand pulling at the remainder of the broken lid. A huge figure loomed over me. I could see the long hair blowing in the harsh wind and as the figure leaned further down to me, I caught the thick beard and dark eyes. The familiar face frightened me more than it relieved me. I choked on a sob and cried out. “Hawke?”

“I got you,” Hawke said, his arms wrapping around me. “I got you.”

He pulled my limp body out and carried me out of the hole. I could hardly feel his touch as he set me gingerly on the ground, rolled me to my side and quickly tore away at the rope around my arms and legs with a large blade in his grip. Mentally, I was gone. This wasn’t real. I was probably dying and it was a mean hallucination right before the end. But then he rolled me on my back and I felt the sudden jarring pain in my shoulders as he brought my arms over my front.

“You’re okay,” he told me, his voice soft. “You’re okay now. I got you.”

It was too much. It was too real. I broke down, crying uncontrollably at the horror he’d just saved me from. His woodsy scent hit me. His touch broke through my numb flesh. He remarked that I was freezing and then he tore off his leather jacket and slipped it around me. The sudden warmth gave me pins and needles everywhere.

“Don’t leave me,” I choked out, my mind playing catch up. I was so traumatized, I still couldn’t move. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.” I repeated this like a madman, and he picked me up swiftly, tucking me against his chest and responded with, “I won’t” every single time.