Soon, we’ll be dead.

As he yanks me forward towards the hallway, I swing my head back and forth until I’m able to open my mouth. I take the small window to chomp down on his hand, drawing blood. Earl howls in pain and releases me on instinct, giving me an opportunity to race towards the phone.

I reach it.

I pick it up and start to dial with quivering fingers.

9-1-

“You fuckin’ bitch.” Earl smacks the phone out of my hand before I get the last number in, then clubs me over the head with some kind of metal pipe. I drop to the kitchen floor in a daze and he begins kicking me in the ribs. I scream in pain, in fear, in hopelessness. I can hear Dean yelling for me from down below as I lie across the stained yellow tiles, curling my body into itself while Earl’s steel toe breaks my ribs in two.

When I feel myself on the verge of passing out, Earl grabs a handful of my hair and drags me down the hallway. I twist and resist, digging my fingernails into his arm, but it’s no use. He opens the basement door and throws me down the flight of steps.

I hear Dean shout my name right before my skull hits the cement and everything goes black.

Chapter Eleven

I think the waves are whispering my name.

Maybe they are singing to me and my name is the ocean’s favorite song.

“Cora.”

It sounds so beautiful coming from the mouth of the magnificent sea. Every letter is a perfect note. Every syllable is a melody, harmonious and pure.

But as the water kisses my toes, a howling wind blows through and plucks my name right from the ocean floor. The song turns hard and loud, like a base drum pounding in my ears, stomping on my ribs and squeezing my head until I cry out. It hurts… it hurts.

It’s not supposed to hurt.

“Cora.”

I open my eyes with slow, painful blinks as my surroundings begin to take shape.

My reality.

The evidence of my failure.

I start to cry instantly, my cheek pressed against the gritty cement, my hands locked behind me in a position that is all too familiar. I sob, hysterical and weak, realizing my eyes are unable to produce tears.

I can’t even fucking cry.

“Cora… fuck, Cora, I thought you were dead,” Dean says, his voice threaded with impetuous relief. “Talk to me, Corabelle. Tell me you’re okay.”

I continue to wail, shake, and moan, my body racked with hopeless defeat and more pain than I can even process. “I failed. I failed you. I’m so sorry,” I choke out through tearless sobs, drawing my knees up to my aching chest. I’m not sure what’s more broken—my ribs or my heart. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I just want to die.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” he tells me in a desperate plea. “It’s not your fault. It’s not over. Please don’t give up, Corabelle. I need you.”