Chapter 43 Awakening
Awakening
Miguel’s room is bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor sets a tentative backdrop as I step inside. The smell of antiseptic and stale coffee lingers in the air.
He's sitting up in bed, a shadow of his former vibrancy, yet there's a spark in his eyes as he sees me. His gaze trails over my changed appearance. I’d gone home first to shower and change from my thick clothes that were sodden with ocean spray and stained with blood.
Now I’m wearing a sleek, form-fitting, long-sleeved sweater dress that dips low in the front to show off the tops of my breasts. Turns out bras can change a girl’s whole figure, even if she doesn’t have much of one to begin with.
I’m suddenly acutely aware of the confident, almost predatory way I carry myself now. It’s been more than two months since Miguel’s lights went out, but it feels as though a lifetime has passed.
The way his warm brown eyes sweep up and down my body tells me he’s noticing too.
"Evie," Miguel starts, his voice a mix of hesitation and something unreadable. "You look... different."
I suppress a smile as I pull up a chair, the vinyl squeaking under my weight. I forgot he did that. Miguel always says what he’s thinking, never holding anything back.
"So do you, but I imagine with a haircut and a little sun, you’ll be back to your old self."
His eyebrows do a little dance up and down as if surprised to hear me chain so many words together.
Only at this moment do I realize how I've been finding my voice.
I'm not as afraid to be seen as I once was.
But here with Miguel, I feel that old Evie trying to rise to the surface, needing to meet expectations.
Be quiet, watch carefully, make yourself small.
"Yeah, a lot's changed," I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, a nervous gesture that feels out of place with my new persona.
His eyes hold mine, searching, probing. "Your hair is really pretty. So shiny."
That’s not what he wanted to say. He wants to ask, to know what happened, but he hides the question. So much for being the normal, transparent Miguel. Maybe we’ve both changed?
"Ask it," I say quietly, folding my hands in my lap.
Miguel remains silent as I watch him internally wrestle with either what question to ask first or if it’s wise to ask at all.
"There were monsters," he finally says slowly, as if unsure what this will lead to.
Fortunately and unfortunately for him, I know this path well. I won’t let him get lost on it.
"There were," I confirm with a nod.
"You knew them."
I lick my lips. "One of them. I know one of them," I confess.
Silence settles over us and I give him all the time he needs to reconcile these two facts, simple yet loaded like a gun. His eyes turn unfocused as he goes inward.
The pressure builds in my chest until it finally snaps like a twig. "I never wanted to hurt you." I mean it on so many levels, and yet the words feel insufficient.
The side of his mouth lifts in a wry smile for a moment as his hands flex in the hospital sheets. "I know that."
He says it so effortlessly, as if it costs him nothing to say that. Some part of me gasps in relief, coming out from under the dark stone weight that has been smothering me ever since his head cracked against that wall.
"You... you don’t hate me?" I push my hair back again, trying to reign in my rioting emotions but they are bubbling to the surface.
Miguel’s face twists in confusion. "Why would I hate you?"
I bark out a humorless laugh. "Because I broke things off with you. You were hurt because of me... " Because you know now that I was never worthy of you, and I fed you a lie.
Unable to stay seated with all this energy simmering in me, I’m up on my feet, pacing in front of his bed with my arms crossed over my chest.
Miguel’s dark eyes take me in with renewed scrutiny as he cocks his head to the side. "Evie, you were nothing but honest with me."
I pause to shoot him a look of incredulity.
"Okay, clearly not everything," he corrects, "but I don’t doubt that our interactions were truthful. You said you couldn’t be with me, and I now understand a little... better what you meant."
I cross to the view of the gray city, needing to collect myself. How? How could he be like this? How can he not hate me? How can he trust how I've acted when I've been hiding a literal monster of a secret?
I don’t realize I’ve said all this out loud until my fingers dig into the window ledge.
"Evie," Miguel’s voice is low and so very serious. "I’ve understood from the very beginning that you come from a place where... where... " he struggles to continue, "others hurt you, I'm guessing betrayed your trust, or worse."
Again, I let out a dry laugh, looking down at my boots.
"So you got a thing for pity cases," I mutter.
"No."
His voice is so sharp, I’m forced to turn around.
"I never pitied you," he says with such intense conviction I feel shame burn my cheeks. "But I did always worry you’d be out of my reach. And I didn’t know how right I was until... " his hands scrub over his messy dark hair, the tube in his arm staying in. "Meu Deus, monsters! I saw them, but... "
He slips into Portuguese, showing he’s not as unflappable as he appears.
"I imagine it’s hard to wrap your head around if you haven’t known most of your life," I say quietly.
Then he shoots the series of questions that need answering.
How long have I known monsters are real?
Since I was a kid.
Where do they come from?
Another realm—I left the part about from under the bed out. He doesn’t need more to worry about.
Why are they here?
They came for me.
He doesn’t ask why, which is good because I don’t think I should answer that. Either he’s struggling to absorb everything, or the head injury keeps him from digging deeper.
Once I’ve assured Miguel we aren’t approaching an apocalypse of monsters taking over the world, I fall back into the squeaky vinyl chair.
His brows knit and his face reflects a consternation and seriousness I’ve never seen on him before. "Are you okay?"
I chuckle, a hollow sound that bounces off the sterile walls. "That's a loaded question."
He leans forward, wincing slightly. Guilt flares in me bright and hot. "I mean it, Evie. After what happened, I just... I want to know if you're okay."
I sigh, tracing a pattern on the bedsheet with my finger. "Okay is a relative term in my world. But yeah, I'm managing."
He nods, a frown creasing his forehead. "I've been thinking a lot, you know, while lying here. About us, about that night."
I meet his gaze, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. "Miguel... "
He raises a hand, stopping me. "No, let me finish. I know now, more than ever, that your world... it's not something I can be a part of. And you know that too. Hell, you knew before I did, but I didn’t want to let go."
My throat tightens, a mix of relief and sadness swirling in my chest. "I do know, and I'm sorry. Sorry that I dragged you into my mess."
"It's not your fault, Evie. You're fighting your own battles. I just... I wish things could've been different." He reaches out, his hand gently grasping mine.
I squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin. "You were my highway exit to a normal life, you know. I desperately wanted to take it, but I am what I am." I want him to know, to really know that I tried.
Silence falls, comfortable yet tinged with regret.
He finally breaks it, his voice softer now. "I didn’t fall for you because I pitied you," he says, rounding back to my earlier accusation. "I fell for you because you know who you are, and I desperately wanted to know who that person is because she’s special."
My muscles tighten, my body recoiling at hearing something so counter to how I feel about myself. But he goes on.
"It’s like you are awake in a way no one else is, and you really see the world. But Evie," he licks his chapped lips, his voice taking an even more serious tone, "I think you’ve seen a lot of bad because of that."
I can’t help the snort even as my lashes turn wet from unshed tears. A strange feeling fills my chest, like a twisting sensation but not in a bad way—more like a twisting anticipation, as if I’m on the verge of something. Like a glass window I didn’t realize was there is about to be broken through.
"I wanted you to see something good. I wanted to be the something good for you." He wears a lopsided smile that makes him look like a kid. "Pretty presumptuous of me, huh?"
I laugh, a real, heartfelt sound. "Miguel, you really are the first and only friend I've ever had. And for that, you'll always have a special place in my heart."
His smile is sad but understanding. "You'll have one in mine too, Evie. Always."
We sit there for a few more moments, the beep of the heart monitor bringing a weighted rhythm and gravity to our goodbye.
As I stand to leave, Miguel speaks up one last time. "Take care of yourself, Evie. And remember, some of us out here... we aren’t so bad."
I nod, holding back tears. "Thank you, Miguel. For everything."
Stepping out of the room, I feel a chapter of my life closing behind me.
The bus ride home is a blur. It’s twilight by the time I let myself into my apartment, and I don’t bother turning on the light. Instead, I make a beeline straight for the bed, falling back on it and letting out a massive sigh, purging oxygen from even my toes.
I’m not sure how I feel. Peaceful? Absolved? Is this what closure feels like?
Or is it sadness and regret that I couldn’t be what Miguel needed? That I failed my test of being normal?
Maybe. But I am what I am.
I want who I want.
Miguel will finish college, he’ll become the best damn immigration attorney and attract a girl who worships the ground he walks on and is worthy of his affection.
A shadow elongates out from under the bed. Caught by the moonlight from my window, I catch the silhouette of two long spiraled horns.
Pushing myself up to settle on my palms, my lungs seize. They’ve never been so long before.
"Evvviieeee…" a gravelly voice echoes through the room. Its tone is as deep as if it had been shoveled out from the depths of hell itself.
My fingers clench into the sheets.
"I smell you." The voice turns sharp, vicious. An ice cold sweat breaks out on my back and between my breasts. Panicked buzzing drones in my ears as every nerve ending screams at me to run, to get out.
Launching off the bed, I race toward the door. I don’t even clear the bedroom before a tendril of shadow snaps around my waist, yanking me back and throwing me on the bed.
Before I know it, Shadow is hovering over me, eyes black as coal.
There is no recognition, no mercy, no remorse in them as his claws tear through the fabric at my chest, splitting skin and splattering my blood against the wall.
White-hot pain—it’s too deep, too much for my brain as it explodes with fiery warnings.
I cry out in pain. "Shadow—"
But it’s no use, because this isn’t my Shadow, and there is too much blood.