Jonathan's POV
"Jonathan, that plan is completely insane."
Ethel spoke while pouring another glass of cherry liquor into her tumbler. Ever since Savannah vanished days ago, Ethel had been wasting away before my eyes. She barely touched food and sleep seemed impossible for her, the guilt eating her alive from the inside.
Her fingers shook against the glass. I wondered how many drinks she'd already consumed tonight, judging by the slur in her speech, easily more than five. Though I couldn't criticize her coping methods. Food held no appeal for me either, and rest remained elusive. Unlike her liquid escape, my mouth tasted perpetually of elder blood these days.
I perched on the kitchen counter's edge, fighting to keep my eyes open. Like a feral dog forced to claw its way through hell, dirty and drained, I let my forehead rest against the cool marble surface. My chest ached with a persistent throb while my hands wouldn't stop shaking.
