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carotid
artery. Black spots fleck my vision and I realize I’m
hyperventilating. It requires all my quickly vanishing willpower to
tap my Naturalism and slow my breathing enough to see clearly
again.
    “If you ask me
to kill you, I will do that for you, Libby, though I would not take
any pleasure in it,” Mr. Walters says. “Or if you prefer to end
your life by your own hand, I will not stop you. Either way, if
death is what you truly want, I will allow you to have it. Right
here. Right now. This is the only time I will make this offer,
Libby. It is your choice.”
    The pressure
of the blade on my skin increases slightly, and I cry out. “No! No
don’t!”
    Instantly the
knife is withdrawn, back in its sheath like it never left. “Why?”
he asks.
    “Because I
don’t want to die,” I say. Tears bleed down my cheeks and I wipe
them away furiously, angrily.
    “You will die
eventually. There is no doubting that.”
    “But I don’t
want to die yet, not today. Not for as long as I can manage it.”
Maybe it’s wrong to want to live. With everything I’ve done, and
am, I probably deserve to die. But I don’t want to. Not yet.
    Placing his
hands on my desk, Mr. Walters leans forward. His wizened features
grow eerily strong and firm as he peers down at me. “If you don’t
want to die, then you have to embrace who and what you are, Libby.
Becoming the Destroyer is the only thing that is going to keep you
alive.”
     
     

Chapter 6
    Risk
     
     
    Still feeling
rather dazed from Mr. Walters’ class, I push through the doors to
the parking lot with my eyes on the pavement. Pain behind my eyes
is growing into a massive headache by the second. I never did get a
chance to talk to Jen today. Telling myself that it’s just because
we don’t have any classes together, and because I was here early
this morning and I’m leaving ridiculously late, are the only
reasons we didn’t find each other today, only does so much to cheer
me up. It isn’t because she’s avoiding me.
    Intent on
convincing myself that Jen is still my friend, I don’t notice the
door in front of me swinging open until it is inches away from my
face. With no time to move out of the way I throw my hands up in an
effort to protect myself and take the full force of the door on my
palms. Pain radiates through my wrists and up my arms in a
flash.
    “Ow! Crap,
that hurt.” Since I already dropped the books I was carrying, I’m
free to shake my hands and try to get rid of the awful tingling
sensation. The door swings back away from me to reveal the
culprit.
    “Did I hit
you?” he asks, sounding only vaguely concerned. His dark grey eyes
look over at me from under his raggedy hair.
    I stare at him
with a scowl. “Milo, right?”
    He nods.
    “Yeah, you did
hit me. Thanks. Like my day hasn’t been crappy enough already.”
    Shrugging
nonchalantly, he says, “Sorry. I’m usually the only one still here
this late.”
    It is pretty
late. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
    “Detention.”
    I have to
suppress an elaborate eye roll. It isn’t easy. Of course he was in
detention. He certainly wasn’t still here working on some extra
credit or anything. “What for?”
    “Didn’t turn
in a homework assignment to Ms. Hernandez last week. She gets
pretty pissed when that happens. But she gets pissed off by just
about everything I do.” Milo looks very concerned about that
fact. “She’ll get over it eventually.”
    “How long did
she give you?” Not that I particularly care for Milo’s sake—he
obviously deserves it—but just so I know how peevish Ms. Hernandez
is for future reference.
    “This time?”
Milo asks. “A week, or until I turn my homework in, whichever comes
first.”
    “Then why
don’t you just turn your homework in?” I ask drily.
    He looks at me
like I am an idiot. “I’ve already spent three of my five days in
detention. Turning my homework in now would be pointless. I would
have wasted the last three days trying to make