Page 272 of Sincerely, Butterfly

The blinding pain is dulled by the thrill and rush of adrenaline. I pull the blade out and ram it back into my arm again. Don’t worry, it’s the one without the tattoo. I’d never want to risk ruining that.

“Stop it!” he shouts. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“Don’t kill me. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t kill me.” I start to sob, for real, because ouch, this fucking hurts.

“Give me that fucking knife,” he demands as I bring it down and stab myself in the thigh.

“No!” I cry out. “Please, stop.”

He reaches for the knife, pulling it out of my thigh, right as the door flies open.

“NOPD!” someone shouts. “Put your hands up!”

Roscoe does as he’s told and raises his hands, still holding the bloody knife.

“You’re under arrest."

“This isn’t what it looks like. This crazy bitch did this to herself,” he yells as five men tackle him to the ground.

He’s claiming that he’s innocent, that he’s being set up, that he didn’t do this, but no one is listening.

“Are you okay?” an officer asks me, then puts in a call for an ambulance.

“It hurts,” I whimper. “It hurts so much,” I start to sob.

“It’s okay,” he reassures, putting pressure on the wounds. “The ambulance is on its way.”

The officers drag Roscoe outside while others file in. They start to search the place, and a few seconds later, one of them comes out of the bathroom. “Boss, you’re going to want to see this.”

An officer follows the other into the bathroom, and I smile inside. They found the stuff.Perfect.

“I think we just caught the Butterfly Killer,” I hear him say from the other room.

The sounds of sirens get louder, closer.

As the seconds tick by, the pain begins to dull. My eyes grow heavy, and I feel like I want to go to sleep.

“Ma’am. I need you to stay awake.”

“Just a little nap,” I slur.

Shit. I think I’m losing too much blood. I really should have thought that plan through. But I was committed to the bit. If that isn’t pure dedication, I don’t know what is.

The next time I open my eyes, I’m in a white room. It smells of antiseptic, and there are sounds of beeping filling the room.

I move to sit up and hiss when pain spikes up my arm.

“Nola?” Jasper asks, his voice raspy.

I blink over to see him standing by the bed. He looks like he just woke up from a deep sleep. “Hey, baby,” I say, feeling a little funny. “Ugh, you’re so sexy.” I reach up with my good arm and run my hands through his shaggy black hair. “You make me so horny all the time,” I whine.

A laugh has me rolling my head to the side. “You nearly bled out, and you’re still thinking of sex?” Sylas asks, perching himself on the side of the bed. “You really are one crazy bitch.”

“I am.” I grin wide. “I really am,” I sigh. “You should have seen his face when I started stabbing myself.” I start to laugh, the sound manic and unhinged. “He was not expecting that.”

“Neither were we, Little Rabbit.” Wesley sits at the end of the bed, his arms crossed. “What were you thinking?”

“She wasn’t,” Jasper growls, grabbing the hand that’s still in his hair. He glares down at me, but he doesn’t yell, just kisses the palm of my hand before biting down hard enough to make me moan in pleasure. “You are in so much trouble.”