Talk to Icy Sedgwick on the Fictionville blog
She woke up panting, the echoes of her nocturnal screams ringing in her ears. Cold sweat plastered tattered strings of black hair to her head, and tangled bedclothes trapped her legs. The bed felt damp yet crusty, as though something had been spilt and then dried badly. She looked down to see a large dark patch spread across the sheets, the dark brown contrasting with the white. She peered at the stain, her bleary vision forming monsters in the inkblot darkness.
Her eyes flicked madly around the darkened room, her memory misfiring as she tried to remember the night before. Her desperate gaze tried to cling to the familiar clutter around her bed, fixing on piles of clothes and well read books, searching for an anchor. Questions clung to the edge of her consciousness, oozing a slick of confusion over her thoughts. What happened to her bed? Why was her room such a mess? Why was she alone? Where was Jacob?
Her jaw dropped open as the truth came back to her, hitting her with the force of a nuclear blast. The uncovered lies swarmed around her like vindictive wasps, and she tentatively raised a hand to her chest. She flinched as she ran her fingers over the edges of the exposed bone, feeling the sticky residue clinging to the edge of the wound. A fist-sized hole in her sternum revealed the empty cavity within.
She could find no solace knowing that her premonition had come true. After all the fights, all the betrayals, and all the sadness, Jacob had finally ripped her heart out.