"Stop being so difficult, Claire," he said without any warmth. He leaned in close, his face just inches from mine. "You’re going to do this for Amy. That’s final."
“I’m not doing this,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You can’t keep controlling me like this.”
Steve ignored me, wiping a tear from my cheek, as if he cared.“You need to understand that I’m only trying to help my Sister. She needs this.”
That’s when I knew what I had to do. My hand slipped under the blanket, fingers wrapping around the utility knife I had hidden there. With all the strength I had left, I lunged forward and plunged the blade into Steve’s chest.
He gasped, eyes wide with shock. He stumbled back, clutching his chest as blood soaked through his shirt.
“Claire…” he whispered, barely able to speak.
“You deserve this,” I said through gritted teeth, “Don’t you know that I’m resistant to anesthesia?” I stabbed him again. And again. Each stab was filled with all the pain, anger, and grief that had been building since Lucas’s death.
Amy screamed, her voice loud and piercing. “Oh my God, she killed him!”