Ch.22: The Ring

The pain is a white noise that drowns out everything else.

My hand throbs in time with my heart, each beat sending a fresh wave of agony up my arm. The tourniquet is tight, biting into the flesh, but it’s the absence that hurts the most. The phantom sensation of a finger that is no longer there.

I stare at the bedside table.

My ring sits there. The diamond catches the light from the monitor, winking at me.

It’s mocking me. A symbol of a marriage that was a lie, a promise that was a trap.

But it’s also something else.

It’s carbon. Compressed, hardened carbon. The hardest substance on earth.

Aris thinks I’m helpless. He thinks I’m a broken doll with missing parts. He forgot that I’m not just a wife. I’m a scientist.

I check the clock. **03:00**.

The witching hour is back. The diluted drug in my system has cycled through. The new bag Aris hung is full strength, but he didn't purge the line completely. There is still a mix. A weakness.

I have a few minutes of partial motor control.

I swing my left hand toward the table.

My arm is heavy, clumsy. I knock over a plastic cup. It clatters to the floor.

*Damn it.*

I try again. I focus on the ring.

My fingers brush the cool platinum band.

I can't pick it up. My grip is gone. The muscles in my hand are too weak to pinch.

I have to swipe it.

I drag my hand across the table. I catch the ring in the crook of my palm.

I pull it toward the edge.

It falls.

It lands on the mattress next to my hip.

Now what?

If Aris comes back and sees it gone, he’ll tear the room apart. He’ll find it. He’ll take it.

I have to hide it.

But where?

I look around the room. There are no pockets. No drawers I can reach. Under the mattress? He checks there. In the pillowcase? Too obvious.

I look at my own body.

I am naked under the thin sheet. Vulnerable. Exposed.

I have nowhere to hide anything.

Except...

I look at the ring again. It’s small. Smooth metal, sharp stone.

I pick it up. It takes three tries, my fingers fumbling like I’m wearing oven mitts.

I bring it to my face.

My mouth.

I open my lips. They are dry, cracked.

I place the ring on my tongue. It tastes like cold metal and old promises.

I swallow.

The ring slides down my throat. It scrapes the esophagus. I feel the sharp point of the diamond snag for a second, then slide free.

It drops into my stomach. It hits the pool of acid with a phantom splash.

I gag. A reflex.

I force myself to breathe. *In. Out.*

It’s done.

I have swallowed the evidence.

I have swallowed the tool.

Now I just have to wait.

Digestion takes time. Transit time through the stomach, the small intestine, the colon. Twelve hours? Twenty-four?

I don't have twenty-four hours. Isabella’s face is rotting. Aris is desperate. He will be back for more parts soon.

I need to speed it up.

I look at the IV pole. The saline bag.

Hydration speeds up motility.

But I can't reach the bag. I can't increase the flow.

I look at the water pitcher on the tray table. It’s full. Greta left it there.

I reach out. My hand shakes.

I grab the pitcher. It’s heavy. Water sloshes over the rim.

I bring it to my lips. I drink.

I drink greedily, water spilling down my chin, soaking the bandages on my neck. I drink until my stomach feels distended, until I feel like I’m going to burst.

I need to flush the system. I need to push that diamond through my body like a bullet through a gun barrel.

I finish the pitcher. I drop it back onto the table. It lands with a loud *thud*.

I lie back.

I can feel it inside me. A hard, cold knot in the center of my being.

It’s not just jewelry anymore. It’s a glass cutter. A wire cutter. A weapon.

When it comes out, I will clean it. I will sharpen it.

And I will use it to cut my way out of this hell.

I close my eye. I focus on the sensation in my gut.

I have a diamond inside me. I just need to pass it.