Chapter 170: Driven By Madness

Lorali

As I stood there in the corridor, listening, the muffled murmurs of other passing crew members floated down the hall.

"Did you see her on set? She’s a total menace."

"She attacks her own packmate. Total rabid dog behavior."

"How does the Spade Pack even let her out in public?"

Every single whisper scraped against my nerves and heat rushed to my face, my chest heaving as the old, familiar rage, the deep, feral fury that everyone always accused me of having, roared to life in my veins.

You think I’m a rabid dog? I thought, my vision blurring with hot, blinding anger. You think I’m crazy? Fine. Let me show you what crazy actually looks like.

Without thinking, I pushed the medical room door wide open and stepped inside.

"Oh, Walter," I said, my voice dripping with a sickly sweetness that made the two assistants jump in terror. "I just wanted to say... I’m so, so sorry. I’m just so bad at this."

All three of them stared at me as if I had just entered holding a live grenade. Walter looked up from the examination table, his eyes wide and uncertain.

"Lorali..." Walter started, looking bewildered.

I didn’t let him finish. I turned my head toward the two assistants hovering nervously by the sink. "You two. Go get us some water. I want to talk to my packmate alone."

The two assistants looked terrified, glancing at Walter for permission. Walter gave a tight, hesitant nod, and they practically scrambled out of the room, pulling the door shut behind them with a soft click.

The second the door clicked shut, my entire demeanor did a terrifying 180-degree flip.

My sweet, apologetic smile vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, dead-eyed blankness. I turned my head slowly back toward Walter, my gaze locking onto the sterile medical tray sitting on the metal cart beside him.

On that tray, neatly arranged under the bright lights, were medical instruments, like surgical scissors, metal clamps, foil-wrapped suture kits, and a gleaming, razor-sharp stainless-steel scalpel.

My eyes gravitated right to the scalpel.

I walked over to the cart, my footsteps completely silent against the floor, and picked up the scalpel. The metal felt ice-cold against my fingertips.

Walter froze. He tracked my hand, his breath catching in his throat as he watched the light glint off the sharp edge of the blade.

"Wh-What are you doing, Lorali?" Walter asked, his voice cracking slightly as he nervously shifted his weight.

I held the scalpel up, turning it over slowly, watching how the overhead light bounced off the steel.

"You know..." I whispered. "People keep saying I’m crazy. They keep calling me a rabid dog."

I took a step closer to him.

Walter’s eyes went wide. He immediately slid off his chair, stumbling backward until his spine hit the far wall of the tiny clinic room. "Lorali... hey. Let’s put the knife down. Come on. Put the scalpel down, and let’s just talk."

"I’m not crazy," I murmured, tilting my head as I took another step forward, invading his personal space. "I’m not crazy... right, Walter?"

Walter swallowed hard, his hands raised defensively in front of his chest. "No! No, you’re not crazy! Look, how about we all go for a nice walk after this? We can go get ice cream! And do whatever you want, Lorali!"

"I don’t want ice cream," I hissed, my grip tightening around the handle of the scalpel.

"Okay, okay, anything!" Walter stammered, his eyes darting frantically toward the door, his back completely pressed against the drywall. "You can have whatever you want! Just... let’s drop the scalpel, okay?"

The terror in his voice, the way he was looking at me like I was a wild, rabid beast ready to tear his throat out, pissed me off beyond all measure.

I stopped dead in my tracks, the scalpel hovering inches from his chest.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I demanded to know, my voice rising in pitch, a sudden, frantic edge bleeding into my tone. "Why are you looking at me like I’m actually insane?! Do you think I’m going to hurt you with this?! I’m not crazy! I’m not crazy, right?!"

Walter’s face was completely drained of color. He was shaking. "No, you’re not! Lorali, please... just calm down. If you do something stupid with that knife right now, you’ll be in so much trouble. I’m... I’m trying to protect you!"

"I don’t need your protection!" I shrieked.

Something inside my brain completely snapped. The red haze took over.

Before Walter could dodge, I lunged forward, grabbed the front of his shirt with my left hand, and swept the scalpel outward in a vicious, lightning-fast arc.

SCREEEEECH.

The cold steel cut right across Walter’s face.

Walter let out a blood-curdling scream, stumbling backward and collapsing hard onto his hands and knees on the floor, his hands instantly flying up to clutch his face as a bright, hot line of crimson blood burst open across his skin, instantly soaking his fingers.

"Ahhhhhh!" Walter wailed, sobbing in agony as he pressed his palms against his bleeding face, curling into a tight ball on the floor.

I stood over him, breathing heavily, staring down at the blood dripping onto the white floor.

A breathless, high-pitched laugh escaped my throat.

"You know..." I whispered, crouching down slightly to look at him as he shook in terror. "I’ve always wanted to do this. That pretty, arrogant face of yours... I always wanted to know what would happen if you got ruined. If you got a permanent scar right across your face."

Blood was pouring freely between his fingers now, staining his white shirt a bright, vibrant red. He was crying, trembling from head to toe, looking up at me like I was a literal monster.

"But..." I muttered, my expression suddenly shifting into something calm, and this is my I say I’m not crazy. "Unlike you... I like to think I’m fair."

Without blinking, I lifted my right hand holding the scalpel, pressed the flat side of the blade against the top of my own left cheekbone, and dragged it down swiftly, slicing a clean, burning line through my own skin all the way down to my jawline.

A searing bolt of pain flared across my face. Warm blood instantly welled up, trickling down my cheek and dripping off my chin onto the floor.

"See?" I smiled, my eyes wide and wild, blood smearing across my cheek as I looked down at him. "I’m totally fair. We are both going to have scars, and when someone comes they will assume we got into a fight. We both got a little crazy and attacked each other."

Walter stared at me, his mouth opening and closing in silent horror, completely unable to process the madness of what I had just done to myself.

Because he was looking at me like I was a freak, because that judgment was still burning in his eyes, a sudden, ugly urge surged through my chest. I wanted to smash something heavy into his skull. I wanted to wipe that terrified expression off his face permanently.

I raised the scalpel, my arm trembling as I aimed it straight toward him—

BANG!

The door to the medical room flew off open and I threw the scalpel out my hands and fell to the floor. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?!" Oril’s voice roared, echoing through the small clinic like thunder.

A flood of people, producers, security guards, paramedics and scarlet, pushed wildly into the room.

For one long second it was like the entire world froze.

They saw Walter curled on the floor, bleeding profusely from a slash across his face. They saw me on the floor beside him, covered in my own fresh blood, everything was perfect.