Chapter 53
THAT WASN’T YOU
I don’t know how long it’s been.
I don’t know if I care.
I don’t even know if I’m real.
I’m in a bedroom—not one I recognize. The bed is too forgiving. With sheets soft enough to disappear into and a pile of pillows that might swallow me whole. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve to improve or graduate or be free.
Everything hurts, aches, fractures. It feels like I’ve been sucked through a straw and spat out.
Every time I close my eyes, I see it again.
The heat tearing out of me. The instructor’s face warped with terror as I threw him into the wall.
The mirrored walls splitting apart under the force of something I can’t possibly be capable of.
My stomach twists so violently I think I might be sick.
Instead, I curl in on myself, wishing I could disappear.
Minutes tick by like seconds as I wallow.
It takes far too many to realize I’m not alone.
Vincent sits at the desk, file spread open in front of him, pen lying useless across the page. His shoulders are hunched, his eyes shadowed, like the act of sitting upright is taxing.
I shift, my blanket rustles. His head lifts impossibly fast. The look he gives me is expectant, but not impatient, like he would’ve waited there all night if I hadn’t moved.
“Why am I here?” My voice barely rises above a ragged whisper.
He stands slowly, crossing the space between us. Careful, deliberate, eyeing me like I might fracture all over again if he moves too quickly.
“You survived. They don’t know what to do with that.” His hand hovers above my arm. “But you’re still breathing.”
Tears sting before I can blink them away. “I shouldn’t be.”
He kneels in front of me, lowering himself until we’re eye level. His hand settles gently against my arm. He’s not wearing his gloves, so I can feel every ounce of his warmth.
Vincent’s eyes soften. “Don’t say that.”
“I didn’t even know I could…” Words fail. The memory burns bright. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You weren’t yourself,” he says, low and urgent like he needs me to believe it. “That wasn’t choice. That wasn’t intent. You were pushed too far, and your body reacted to survive. That doesn’t make you a monster.”
“I hurt someone,” I whisper, nails digging into my skin. “I destroyed everything.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You were out of control, yes. But you are not what happened in there.” His hand tightens against my arm, like he could hold me together with nothing but sheer force of will.
The sob tears out of me before I can stop it. I bury my face in my hands, waiting for him to pull away. But his presence lingers, silent and solid, until the onslaught of guilt eases enough for me to hear him again.
“This is your new room. From now on, you’ll have private instruction only,” he says finally. The words themselves are a blow, even as he fights to soften them.
I shake my head until it aches. “I don’t want this.”
“Neither do I.” His thumb brushes against my shoulder, a fleeting comfort. “But you’re here. That’s all that matters now.”
“I don’t deserve to be,” I whisper. His eyes close briefly, like the words physically wound him.
Vincent takes a hard, shaky breath. “You deserve to live, Maysie. Even if you can’t believe that yet.”
Another sob rakes through me, leaving me in tatters.
I don’t fight it. I’m not sure I could if I tried.
He stays with me until my breathing steadies.
Then he exhales, the sound ragged. “I need you to meet me halfway. Rest. Cry. Pull through this. Whatever it takes. If you let yourself fade, I can’t hold them back. ”
I want to tell him I’ll try, but I don’t want to lie. I can’t hurt him right now—not when he looks at me like he can see past the monster I’ve become. I shut my eyes tight, press my lips into a thin line. No matter how hard I try, I can’t respond.
Vincent doesn’t press; he pushes to his feet, pausing when he reaches the door. His next words are barely a whisper. “I’ll fight every day to keep you here. Just promise me you won’t give up before I have the chance.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
I collapse back into the sheets, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers, knowing it won’t.
Answers may not even exist for someone like me.
Not when this fire is still simmering in my veins.
Buried in ashes just beneath the surface is an anguish unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
Beneath that, a desire carved deep, begging me to succumb to it.
The only question is—is it keeping me alive, or tearing me apart?