The sound was rhythmic, relentless, like a countdown waiting for my answer.
Just like before.
When I had made Jesse lose his ability to father a child, she had stabbed me violently. I had lain in a pool of blood, barely holding on. She had stood above me, looming, counting the seconds with a measured patience.
"Ten."
"Nine."
"Eight…"
By the time she reached one, she hadn't rushed at all. Only then did she instruct her bodyguards to take me to the hospital.
She hadn't forgotten to remind them: "Save his life. As for the broken pieces, there's no need to keep them."
She said I had taken Jesse's pride, and it was only fair that I'd become like him, unable to be a father.
I woke up in the hospital after surgery. Jesse, wearing a patient gown, came to see me, smug as hell.
He straightened his back, looking down on me with all the arrogance he could muster.
"See, Cyrus? I told you. Rory only loves me. You hurt me, and she would never forgive you."
I smiled calmly, and then I pushed myself up.
The vase on the bedside table didn't survive my throw. It smashed against Jesse's chest.
He panicked and then screamed.
In reflex, I leapt from the bed, grabbing his hair and smashing his head against the wall.