Cold Hands

Rain knew that faltering at this point would mean to admit defeat. It wouldn't only worsen her the conditions of her captivity but would cause her so much embarrassment that she would really feel like dying. She had displayed enough cowardice, she didn't wish to disgrace herself any further.

Hanging on her last strand of pride, Rain adamantly went on to graze the knife's blade slightly on her wrist to make a shallow cut on her skin. 

As the sharp blade caressed her delicate skin, tearing apart its surface layers and creating a tiny pool, she shifted farther to the bed's edge, neither grimacing nor hissing.

Her expression remained wildly determined as though she could not feel pain. 

Seeing the scarlet fluid slowly staining her wrist and contrasting its pale fairness as it pooled, that amber glint flooded Derek's silver iris yet again. His fists clenched strongly in uttermost restrain and stiffly, he came to a stop.