Chapter 22
Guilt As A Second Skin
Hours pass by with sick anticipation, pain cramping my butt that’s been frozen on the cold metal chair of the interrogation room for God knows how long.
My heart pounds in my throat, and cold sweat sticks to my hairline, turning it into even more of a greasy mess.
I wait for the cops to come slap cold cuffs around my wrists.
I wait for the men in white to come drag me to an institution and force pills down my throat until I don’t know which way is up.
I wait, not knowing if Miguel is dead, or if Shadow is okay.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Shadow’s horns elongate before my eyes with a menacing sharpness that glints in the faint light.
His skin thickening with leathery scales.
The claws that were already sharp becoming lethal razor blades ready to tear through anything that stands in their way.
His tentacles multiplying as they slither and coil around his body like snakes.
And his eyes, no longer the color of hellfire but obsidian pools of rage and hatred.
The first time he looked over at me, his gaze was filled with an intensity I've never seen before, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
I know this Shadow is different. Something has changed inside him yet again—something far more dangerous than before.
And I now worry. Am I in danger of losing him in a totally new way?
When the door opens, I’m almost relieved to find out whatever shitty fate I’m about to be thrust into because the uncertainty has turned my entire body into cramped knots.
"You’re free to go," Martinez says, sweeping a file out the door, not meeting my eye.
I don’t move for a minute.
The officer looks at me then, with thinly veiled annoyance. "Did you hear me? It’s time for you to go."
As I walk on numb legs, I feel the gaze of the other cops. Their expressions are dark and uncertain.
They don’t want to let me go.
So why did they?
As I walk through the precinct, I see a number of people I recognize from the restaurant during the attack. Their faces are heavy, haunted, still terrorized by what they saw.
I realize that though I’ve told this story before, the cops can’t discount a number of unrelated witnesses crying monster. Then there is the unidentified green glop that still probably covers the restaurant. The cops don’t have any reason to hold me.
They wish they could though, because I’m the closest thing to a link they have.
The girl of monsters and carnage.
When I get out, I find a dozen text messages from Helena.
She’s already at the hospital. Her texts fall apart into barely comprehendible strings of panic.
I want to go to the hospital, but I don’t.
It’s packed with his family, and if I go, they will demand answers from me.
Answers I either can’t give, or they won’t like.
So I go home. But I don’t sleep. I may never sleep again.
Not with this much guilt over Miguel choking me.
Not with this much hope for Shadow to come back to me.
Not with the knowledge that I’m more than just a monster hiding in the human world. I am also a curse. Wherever I go, the path I walk is soaked in blood and death.
Three days after the monster attack at the pho restaurant, Miguel is still unconscious.
In a coma, to be exact. Words like brain damage float around me days after I hear them from Helena.
They stab at me like knives throughout the day.
He doesn’t deserve this. His only fault was the infatuation he felt for me.
No. That’s my fault too.
I should have never let him close to me. I should have known my shitty, destructive life would chew him up and spit him out.
I should have taken some time off to recover, but I didn’t.
I need the money, and sitting at home fearing what will happen to Miguel is its own kind of hell. Not to mention, I need to help his family as much as I can. I take on three times the usual jobs so Helena, Alice, and Marie can take time off.
It doesn’t make up for what happened, but they don’t know I’m responsible for his current state.
When our crew is together cleaning houses, the atmosphere is thick with unspoken accusations. Helena's eyes dart to me, then away, as if my very presence is a reminder of Miguel's current state.
The cousins, usually so vibrant, now treat me like I’m a stranger. As if talking to me or even acknowledging my presence will give them some kind of disease.
When Helena first called to ask me what happened the day after it happened, I told her everything I told the cops. From the monster fight to breaking things off with Miguel. I worked hard to keep the bile from crawling up my throat as I confessed it all.
Helena remained quiet through most of my explanation, asking only a question here and there. Without prompting, I told her I planned on working the next day. She only said she’d pick me up at seven before hanging up.
Guilt clings to me, a second skin. My hands move mechanically, cleaning spaces I no longer see.
My thoughts are with Miguel in his sterile hospital room.
There's a tightness in my chest, a relentless pressure that makes it hard to breathe.
I'm here, yet not here—my mind consumed by the image of his unconscious form.
The day drags on, a monotonous cycle of scrubbing and wiping away grime, my own inner turmoil a mirror to the dirt I remove. Every ring or buzz of Helena’s phone sends a jolt through me, the fear that it's news about Miguel, but he remains stable.
For days, I coast the edge of a razor-sharp knife, waiting for something to give. Whether it’s Helena, Miguel, or my own guilt. My life has always been a fucked up cesspool, but it’s usually me at the center of the fallout.
Miguel doesn’t deserve this. I should have never agreed to go on a date the night of his birthday.
The urge to pick up and leave town is overwhelming. Though where would I go? I don’t have enough money to get far. My sense of duty and guilt binds me to Helena. I can’t quit and leave her shorthanded after putting her nephew in the hospital.
The only thing getting me through this is the promise that Shadow will come back for me.
When my shift ends on the third day, the relief that usually comes with the end of a workday is absent. I was told I could finally go visit Miguel.
Instead of Helena dropping me off at my apartment, I head to a nearby bus stop close to the last house we cleaned. Helena gave me her usual muted goodbye while the cousins ignored me. I don’t mention where I’m going.
Outside, the world has moved on, but I am still stuck in that moment when everything changed.
The sickening crack of Miguel’s head against the wall, and the splat of his blood plays over and over in my mind.
I usually find myself clutching at my own stomach as if I’m trying to fold into myself until I disappear.
The hospital is a gleaming beacon in the growing dusk as I make my way there. Inside, the antiseptic smell is overwhelming, a stark reminder of the life Miguel is now clinging to.
I pause at his door, my hand trembling as I reach for the handle.
"Miguel," I whisper, stepping into the quiet room. Machines beep and hum, a mechanical lullaby for the comatose. His face is pale, the bandages stark against his brown skin. I pull a chair close, my fingers finding his. They're cold but I hold on, infusing them with my warmth, my presence.
"I'm here," I say, more to myself than to him. "I'm so sorry." Tears threaten, but I blink them back. The words feel stupid and insufficient.
Time passes, marked only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. I speak to him of inconsequential things, of days cleaning houses, of the ducks in the commons area, and of the cat I feed. I don't mention Shadow or the cyclops. That darkness has no place here.
A nurse comes in to check on Miguel, giving me a kind smile. "You should go home and rest," she advises. "Visiting hours are over."
But leaving feels like abandonment, a betrayal of the silent promise I made. Yet as I look at Miguel, the truth is there in the quiet beep of the monitor. I can’t stay here forever. I don’t have the right.
Not only did I get him hurt, but I ended things between us.
At home, the emptiness is suffocating. Shadow's absence is a chasm that echoes with the memory of his fury and his promise.
The Nexus—whatever that means—seems to be at the heart of it all.
Shadow’s reaction had been… intense. Though he is made of darkness and smoke, I read him like a book. There had been surprise, then a rage I’d never witnessed before.
The room feels too quiet as I sit on the edge of my bed, too still. The absence of Shadow looms, an aching gap. He always came back, no matter what. And now I cling to that truth like a lifeline.
I curl up under the covers but sleep feels like a cop out.
The faint hint of smokiness in the air. My heart leaps. I’m not alone.
"Evie," a voice rumbles in the darkness.
I sit up with a start, my heart pounding.
It's him. Shadow. He hovers in the corner, a darker blot against the night. My breath catches at the sight of him.
"Shadow," I gasp, relief washing over me.