" He presses down lightly on my index finger. He meets my eyes.
"This one," he says. "Give it to me."
My heart is in my throat. In my gut. Beating behind my eyes.
"Cut it off. Place it in my hand. And all will be forgiven."
"Yes, sir," I whisper.
With shaking hands, I press the blade to the tender skin at the base of my finger. The blade is so sharp t pierces the flesh instantly, and with a stifled, agonized cry I press it deeper, hesitating only when I feel resistance. Knife against bone. The pain explodes through me, blinding me.
I fall on one knee.
There's blood everywhere.
I'm breathing so hard I'm heaving, trying desperately not to vomit from either the pain or the horror. I clench my teeth so hard it sends shocks of fresh pain upward, straight to my brain, and the distraction is helpful. I have to press my bloodied hand against the dirty floor to keep it steady, but with one final, desperate cry, I cut through the bone.
The knife falls from my trembling hand, clattering to the floor. My index finger is still hanging on to my hand by a single scrap of flesh, and I rip it off in a quick, violent motion. My body is shaking so excessively I can hardly stand, but somehow I manage to deposit the finger in Anderon's outstretched palm before collapsing to the ground.
"Good girl," he says softly. "Good girl."
It's all I hear him say before I black out. "

― , Imagine Me (Shatter Me, #6)