Chapter 18
Eighteen
I jolted awake, gasping for breath, my chest tight as if something heavy had been pressing down on it. The sheets clung to me, damp and twisted around my legs, while the air in the room felt thick and suffocating. My hands shook as I pushed them through my hair, trying to chase away the fragments of the nightmare, but the images stuck, sharp and unrelenting.
Lily’s face hovered in my mind, pale and hollow, her lifeless eyes fixed on me. They weren’t hers—not the warm, hazel ones I remembered. They were bloodshot, unblinking, staring through me like I was nothing. Her mouth moved, forming shapes that didn’t make sense, silent accusations spilling from her lips. And then she screamed—a soundless wail that rattled my chest and scraped through my skull.
I rubbed my face, trying to ground myself. It was just a dream, I told myself. But my heart hammered like I’d been running for my life, and no amount of steady breathing could slow it. The darkness of the room closed in around me, and I fumbled for the bedside lamp. The sudden flood of light stung my eyes, but it wasn’t enough to banish the image of her face.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I planted my feet on the cool floor, hoping the sensation would help. It didn’t. I sat there for a long moment, head in my hands, replaying the dream in agonizing detail. It had been months since I last dreamed of her. The sharpness of it, the way it felt so real, left my skin crawling.
The thought clawed its way in before I could stop it. Because you failed her. You’ll always fail her.
The shower didn’t help either. The scalding water hit my skin, but the chill wouldn’t leave. No matter how much I scrubbed, I couldn’t shake the feeling of her stare burning into me.
By the time I made it to the kitchen, I was a mess of raw nerves, my muscles aching from the tension I couldn’t release. My phone buzzed on the counter just as I poured my first cup of coffee. The subject line glared up at me from the screen: Memorial for Ciaran and Lily.
I hesitated, staring at it like opening the email would make everything worse. Finally, I swiped it open.
To honor the life and legacy of Ciaran… and to acknowledge Lily’s tragic passing.
My stomach churned. Legacy. The word lodged in my throat, bitter and wrong. Of course, they focused on Ciaran. He was the golden boy, the one who mattered. Lily? She was just an afterthought, a casualty no one wanted to dwell on.
I set the coffee mug down harder than I intended, the clang echoing in the quiet kitchen. The bitterness that had been simmering all morning bubbled over. They’ll forget her. Just like you let her fade.
I gritted my teeth, trying to swallow the thought, but it twisted in my chest, relentless. She deserved better. She deserved more. And I had done nothing.
The dining hall wasn’t any better. Kael and Aeron were already at the table, their body language stiff, their silence sharp enough to cut through the dull hum of conversation around us. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, and I knew it was only a matter of time before it exploded.
“You gonna glare at your eggs all morning?” Kael muttered, stabbing at his plate with his fork.
Aeron didn’t look up, his tone clipped. “Better than whatever you’re doing. Is that supposed to be eating?”
“At least I’m not sulking like a martyr,” Kael shot back, his voice laced with venom.
Aeron’s head snapped up, his jaw tight. “Say that again.”
I slammed my coffee mug down, the sound cutting through their argument like a whip. “Enough,” I snapped, my voice harsher than I meant. Both of them turned toward me, Kael with his trademark smirk, Aeron with his glare.
“This isn’t helping,” I added, rubbing at the ache spreading behind my eyes.
Kael leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Right. Because ignoring everything is really working for us.”
“I said enough,” I barked, my patience hanging by a thread. “You can kill each other later. For now, just shut up.”
Kael muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t push further. Aeron dropped his gaze back to his plate, his shoulders tense. The silence that followed wasn’t any better. It was brittle, oppressive, and only made the weight in my chest grow heavier.
I stayed behind after they both left, staring down at my half-empty coffee cup. The dining hall felt quieter without them, but it didn’t feel calmer. My thoughts spiraled, circling back to the email, the dream, the nagging feeling that I was missing something important.
You failed them both.
The words sank their teeth into me again, sharp and unforgiving. You didn’t help her. You didn’t save him. You let them die.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing the thoughts to stop, but they only grew louder. No matter how many times I told myself I’d made the right choices, the doubts didn’t go away.
The scrape of my chair against the floor pulled me from my thoughts. As I stood, I caught sight of my arm, the skin marked with jagged, red scratches. I froze, staring at them. They weren’t faint, weren’t shallow. They were deliberate.
When the hell did this happen?
I ran a finger over the marks, the sting sharp and raw. My pulse quickened as I tried to piece it together. Nothing. No memory, no explanation. Just the scratches, a physical reminder of the chaos swirling inside me.
I flexed my fingers, the ache in my arm dull but present as I left the dining hall. The scratches lingered at the edge of my thoughts, sharp and accusing, as if they were trying to tell me something. I just didn’t know what.
And that was the part that scared me the most.