Chapter twenty-seven
I look around again, expecting someone to jump out, but the hall is eerily silent. I am alone.
Shuddering, I move to the wall and slide down, purposefully careless in the maneuver. When shockwaves of pain race through me, I nod. This agony translates into a language I understand. But it isn’t enough.
I lace my fingers through my hair, gripping the strands and yanking hard, how Aris did when we laid in the throes of passion. But it doesn't have the same effect.
Slowly, I let go, bringing my good arm around my thighs. The waves of pain fizzle out. They aren’t enough to stop the realizations. The terrible truths.
He left me.
He is really himself again.
What have I done?
Before Aris, I never understood the concept of the ouroboros: a snake fixed in a circle, devouring its own tail. Never biting down, never letting go, it continues. Forever. Why? Such a pointless existence, I thought, but it’s what I’ve become. Not killing Aris, not committing to him. Punisher, the one being punished.
I start to cry—on and on, until the sound of my sobbing becomes amusing somehow and I begin laughing. Everything is so not funny that it’s hilarious: Jaegen sending me nightmares, using me this whole time, Aris placing me here.
On and on, the deceptions go. I laugh, tears streaking down my face.
Ouroboros, I think to myself, you can’t keep going like this.
This place goes on forever.
I have no idea how long I’ve been here. There’s no way to gauge time, and I am always awake and alert. My bodily functions have been taken from me, or at least temporarily removed. It’s better than the alternative—starving or sleeping on the ground, but it’s unnatural.
I crave food and sunlight and the simple luxury of looking at a clock.
I don’t know if Aris is watching me or not. There have been no signs, no interference, and I’ve encountered no others. Still, I can’t imagine that he isn’t. This is far too entertaining an opportunity to pass up.
But if he’s not, what is he doing in the meantime? Is the world in ruins again? Have Jaegen and Aris commenced some biblical-level fight?
Here is another terrible truth: anyone who dies after this point is dead because of me.
I let Aris out. Willingly. No tricks, no cheats. Jaegen gave me my solution. Sure, he deceived me, but he delivered as promised. And I ruined it.
But even now, I can’t bring myself to fully regret what I did. There was no other option; I truly can’t imagine a life without Aris in it—good or bad, he is everything.
I gave it all up for him.
And he put me here.
Walking, as it’s all I ever do, I pass by many different rooms, all with the same door: dark oak with an ornate lever knob. I haven’t looked inside of them, even out of sheer boredom. Even if it gets me out of here faster, I don’t dare. It’s not worth it.
When I looked into the room with the alligators, I didn’t watch as an objective third party; I was the man. I felt his panic, his hands slipping. I felt sharp, powerful jaws snap on my wrists, detaching them from my body.
I was there when the loop began anew.
No, I won’t be doing that again. I don’t need to; I understand the point Aris is trying to make: I live because he allows it. The only thing keeping me from eternal suffering is him and a whim .
I pass by a door—one that looks like all the rest—and am mid-stride when I still, hearing the sound of a creak. It wouldn’t be noticeable if not for the absolute silence in the hall. The noise echoes here, like something out of a horror movie.
Tense, I turn very, very slowly to look at the door behind me. Just as I suspected, it’s wide open.
The other door offered only blackness past its threshold, but this one is the opposite, displaying what one would expect behind a door: a sight. In the dim light of the hall, I can’t make out much, so I take a few, cautious steps closer.
Inside is what looks like a high school auditorium with descending rows of seats and a stage in the far back. On that stage are two figures with lights and cameras set up around them.
I hesitate. I know full well that the door did not open on its own, so Aris must want me to go inside of this room. But why?
My hands clench and unclench at my sides. I don’t have much of a choice. Aris wants me to go in, so I have to go in.
Jaw set, I enter, unsurprised when the door closes behind me. I still turn back to glare at it; naturally, it offers no response. Facing forward, I sigh and walk further into the auditorium.
It takes a few seconds, but I recognize the venue. My friend was disappointed when I didn’t do theater with her, but I watched all of the school plays that she was in—enough performances to recognize that this is my high school auditorium.
These rooms seem to be specially constructed for each person. So, is this one made for me?
I keep going forward, heart racing. Aris said that he wasn’t going to put me in a room. Has he changed his mind?
My gaze snags on the two people on stage. If this is my room, who are they?
The closer I get, the easier they are to make out. One is a monster, an abomination created by Aris, modeled after a devil. And the other, in white pearls and the same blazer she wore in her author photo, is my mother.
At first, her focus doesn’t shift from the creature in front of her, preoccupied as she spits out words and the monster responds. Their conversation doesn’t make sense; it almost sounds like an interview is being conducted. But how is that torture ?
Finally, the devil glances at me, a smirk growing on its unnatural face. “Look here, Olivia. A gift.”
“Mom?” I murmur as she looks at me.
It takes half a second for her to take me in, and I am close enough now that I see the hate in her eyes. The rage, the despair, the blame .
“Are you an apparition?” she asks.
I swallow. “I’m real.”
Her mouth sets in a familiar way. Looking back, I can’t think of a single memory from my childhood where my mother wasn’t frowning at me. This frown is the one she gave after I told her I finished my chores. It means: she doesn’t believe me.
“Come to mock me?”
For a few beats, I say nothing, surprised by the accusation, hurt that she hates me so much that she thinks the sight of me is a punishment from Hell. What’s harder to look at, me or the monster?
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I finally got away from you,” she says with rising intensity, “and you’ve clawed your way back! Everywhere I turn, there you are. My failure .”
Something cracks in me at that word… probably because it’s so accurate, cuts to the crux of my insecurities.
“I’m not a failure.”
She stares at me for a moment, says nothing, then raises her hand.
My cheek burns, tears unwittingly coming to my eyes. My head has jerked to the side from the force of her blow and I keep it there for a few seconds.
“Do you think I would be here if it weren’t for you? Do you think I would suffer? You are an evil girl,” she spits.
Evil .
I shut my eyes briefly, and decide in that half of a second that I’ve had it. That I’m done with her and the things that she tells me.
“And I guess you aren’t at all responsible for that,” I say, rubbing my cheek .
Her eyes narrow, but her chin dips, brow furrowing; she looks almost confused by the strength in my voice. “What do you mean?”
“ You raised me. Everything that I am, everything bad and wrong, comes from you .”
“You were born wrong,” she counters.
“Let’s say I was. For argument’s sake, we’ll agree that I’m evil and messed up. Don’t you think that you could’ve fixed that, or that you could’ve at least tried?”
She stares at me, face twisted with disgust. I thought my words would’ve had some kind of an impact, but she looks like an addict when you try explaining that what they’re doing is wrong. Maybe she is aware, at least on some level, but she doesn’t care . She will never listen to me, because this isn’t about me; this is about her.
It’s not an easy realization. I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter. And yet, I’ve rehearsed this conversation so many times. I’ve thought of so many different ways to try to earn her respect and love. She’s part of the reason why I accepted Jaegen’s bargain in the first place. But I realize now that, even if I had succeeded and Aris was gone, she still wouldn’t like me. She will never like me.
The disappointment is nearly debilitating, and I must lock my knees to keep myself from collapsing.
My mouth opens on its own accord to ask about my dad—does he feel the same way? Does he have a room in this hallway, too? But my lips press together before I form the words. I am afraid of the answer.
“You ruined everything,” says my mom, voice trembling. “I hate you.”
“I know,” I say, and turn away from her. For a moment, I worry that she will attack me, pull me by the hair and pin me to the floor, but this fear is twice removed, almost numb.
All I want now, is to go.
The devil makes itself known in the corners of my vision, its crooked, massive grin fixed right on me. I stare back at it. I know somehow, innately, that I could ask it for mercy for my mother. Whatever is being done to her, I could request that it be lessened. This thing would listen .
I step off of the stage but look back as my mother lets out a furious cry. She leaps at me, only for invisible strings to catch and keep her fixed in the air. She stares, immobile, shaking with rage, and I look at the devil. It has its claws raised like a puppeteer.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mary,” it says with its too-wide smile.
I pause for a moment, decide not to respond, and let the two of them be.
Directly outside the door to the room is Aris. I’m not exactly surprised to see him, but I’m tired and unwilling to deal with his mischief. Seeing my mother again, and learning her fate, has taken something out of me.
His eyes flit to my cheek. “She hit you. Has she done this before?”
I sigh, rubbing at it; the sting is almost gone. “Once or twice,” I admit.
His jaw ticks, and his hands twitch at his sides as if he itches to reach for me. And knows that he can’t.
How bizarre this is for us. Touching and comforting one another was normal just days ago. We would lay together and he would stroke me, and now such a thought is abhorrent to us both. Forbidden.
I’m so tired.
Finally, he says, “Well, what is it?”
“What?”
“One time, or two times? Tell me.”
That she’s hit me.
“Why are you here?” I ask, dodging the question. I’m not interested in strolling down memory lane—not when he has unrestricted access to my thoughts. “Come to kill me?”
He rolls his eyes. “No.”
I turn away, and, though there’s nowhere to go and I’m tired of being in constant motion, I start walking down the hall. I’m sick of this rug and these walls that never change, but I look at them now, pointedly, because I don’t want to acknowledge him.
“So, what?” I say, growing more irritated when he falls into step beside me. “You’re going to keep me in your prison until the sun explodes?”
“No. I’m here to spring you loose. ”
I send him a wary, skeptical look. “You’re letting me go? Why?”
“Would you like to stay here instead?”
“I don’t understand.” I pause, trying to think it through, but I can’t reach any reasonable conclusion on my own. “You put me here because—well, aren’t you… angry?”
“I’ve had time to think.”
“And?”
“Well, how could I blame a lion for hunting gazelles?”
Something about the way he says that rubs me the wrong way. Like he’s having fun. Like he’s about to pull the rug out from under me. But what could he possibly do that’s worse than what he’s already done, beyond putting me in my own room?
I stop walking abruptly, and he follows. “What do you mean by that?” I ask carefully. I feel delicate; I can’t take much more right now.
He tilts his head, a smile crossing his lips; it is half wry and half… fond. It’s strange. Last I saw him, he was raving mad. I thought he might actually kill me, and now he’s jesting. Maybe he’s lost it.
"It was a chaotic, beautiful trick,” says Aris. “You saw my desire for you and used it to deceive me. Naturally, my ego was hurt. But I see now: you are just as you were intended to be. It isn’t your fault."
My eyes narrow. "’Just as I was intended to be?’ What are you talking about?"
"You haven’t figured it out.” He smiles. “Shall I tell you?”
Again, I sigh, longer this time and more exasperated. I feel less nervous now and more annoyed. “Tell me what?”
“The truth.” Aris starts to circle me, a playful lilt entering his tone. “The questions that eat at you: why you are drawn to me, and I to you, why I went into, why I followed you instinctively when I didn't know my own name.”
He pauses, giving me an expectant look, but I’m not in the mood for whatever game he wants to play. “ What are you talking about?” I demand.
He pauses, perhaps for dramatic effect, and then reveals a final, terrible truth: “You were created for me."
The words register slowly, but they don’t compute. I understand them on their own, but I’ve no idea what they mean put together.
Created… for him?
My head shakes on its own accord. "What?”
“How else can I put it?” He stops circling, resting in front of me. “You were molded, made. Crafted.”
“You’re just saying synonyms.”
“What else should I do to help you understand?”
“Understand that I’m…” I drift off and again shake my head, this time more forcefully. Made for him? “You're messing with me.”
His lips purse at the crack in my voice. “Am I?”
“Yes,” I say with less certainty. “You’re mad because of what I did, and I’m off-balance because I just saw my mother, so you’re trying to use that to hurt me even more.”
“Am I, Mary?” The look in his eyes cuts me. It’s the way he used to look at me—days ago, when I was all that he knew, all that he wanted to know. The look is honest and raw—a bit smug, yes, because this is Aris I’m talking to, but also earnest. “Think about it.”
I pause, then consider his words beyond the knee-jerk reaction to dismiss them. Created for him. The sentiment is offensive, and it doesn’t even make sense. “Assuming it’s even true—”
“It is.”
“ Assuming ,” I say more firmly, and Aris sighs. “Who are you saying ‘made’ me?”
“Who else? Sem.”
“Isn’t she dead?”
“Relinquished.”
“Same difference.”
He tilts his head as if to say, I’ll give you that . “She relinquished herself around the time that you were born,” Aris expounds. “Creating you was one of her last acts.”
My head pounds. He’s lying, I tell myself. He knows that you’re vulnerable and he’s making this up. It’s a terribly crafted lie, and I’ll catch him in it.
“Why would she do that?” I ask .
“For me. She made you for me.”
“No, okay, you lost me. Sem has been gone for years, and I’m not… some product. I’m a person . I was made the way that people are.” I point at one of the identical doors in the hall. “My mother’s in one of those.”
“Didn’t you read her book?” says Aris patiently. “She described you as something unnatural.”
“Because she’s cruel.” “She was wrong, in some ways, but maybe she sensed something different in you.” His lips quirk. “Come, Mary. Work through the possibility.”
I give him an exasperated look that he returns with a raised brow. “ Fine ,” I grit out. He wants to play; let’s play. “Let’s say your sister made me, how was I made ‘for you?’ I'm nothing like you."
"Aren't you?"
My jaw sets. I understand where he’s going with this. " Okay , so I tricked you. I betrayed you. That doesn't mean—"
"This isn't about betrayal.” Aris sighs, exasperated. “Think of your nature, Mary. Really think. When I hurt you, did you curl up and retreat? Did you want to heal, or did you go after me? Did you want to punish me and hurt me back?”
“I’m not like you.”
“You just left your mother to be tortured by a devil.”
“According to you, she isn’t my mother,” I reply primly.
“Well, she is, technically. She birthed you, but I believe that Sem planted you inside of her. She curated you, formed your personality with specifications.”
“ What ?”
He looks at me, a brow raised, and I shake my head. Planted inside of my mother? No. I’m done. I’m dismissing the debate and the idea both; I don’t have the energy for either.
"It doesn't make sense,” I conclude.
He pauses for a moment, then reminds me, “We promised to tell each other the truth.”
I start walking again to get away from him, and Aris again follows, but with less jump in his step. I picture him waiting out here, excited to manipulate with this lie. Only, it must not feel so good now that I don’t believe him .
“I don’t like hurting you,” Aris interrupts. “But, yes, maybe I thought that it would be fun to see your reaction.”
“And? Is it everything you hoped for?” I don’t look at him. “You lock me in this hallway, make me face my mother, and tell me your sister made me to serve you. Was it fun? Did you enjoy it?”
He pauses for a moment, then says, “You are being fussy.”
I scoff. Babies are fussy. Puppies are fussy. I am not fussy—not for this.
“And it wasn’t to ‘serve me’ exactly,” he continues.
I increase my pace and he stays beside me. Hovering, his presence is cold and pulsing. He won’t let this drop. We’ll walk this hall for an eternity.
Fine, then.
“Assuming it’s true,” I say, keeping my voice purposefully thick with skepticism, “then, what, you’ve known this whole time?”
“No,” he admits. “When I came to this planet, I felt drawn to a specific area, but I did not travel there until the mages pursued me. I went and saw that it was a girl drawing me; I was expecting magic or some sort of artifact. I was curious, surprised. I thought that I would go inside of you for a moment to see what was so interesting, and perhaps to get away from those fools. That was when they put the necklace on, and I was trapped.”
“And once you were out?”
“I didn’t know until the beach with Jaegen. I have not confronted him in many years, and I was able to see then, what he knew.”
“So… because Jaegen thinks that Sem made me, you think it, too?” I glance at him, brows raised. “Why would he let you see that in his mind? He’s probably messing with you.”
“You are not understanding, so we’ll try this a different way.”
“A different way?”
“Let’s leave here, now. We will discuss this somewhere warm, where there is tea to comfort you.”
I give him a sidelong glance, suspicious. “Since when do you care about my comfort? ”
“I see: you’d prefer to cling to your anger.” Aris suddenly halts, and now I’m the one following his lead, stopping as he pins me with a look. “Will you walk this hall forever, cursing my name and the truths I’ve shared?”
I take a few steps forward, then turn on my heel to declare, “Maybe I will!”
He huffs a dry laugh. “Now listen, we’ve both had our prides hurt. And, yes, I’ll admit… maybe I shouldn’t have put you here. We could have had a civil discussion about your behavior. But, what can I say? I was upset.”
I just stare. “And what happens when you get upset again and I go right back in here?”
“That won’t happen. Come now, let’s leave.”
“What’s the point? I go out there and watch you kill people again?” I cross my arms over my chest. “No, I’m not doing that.”
He studies me for a long moment, the light from the sconces flaring and dimming with the rise and fall of his chest. Finally, he says, “What if I promise not to harm your world anymore?” He pauses, then amends, “Unless the humans provoke me.”
“Why would you do that?” I scoff. “And what about Jaegen and your quest for revenge?”
“I no longer need to harm your world to best Jaegen.”
Is this another trick? What would be the point? If he wanted me to go with him, he could just grab me. Instead, he is patiently responding to my questions. My consent appears to matter.
I look away, rubbing my arms. He’s right; our prides have been hurt, and staying here doesn’t seem like the best way to deal with it. The decision comes reluctantly.
Aris holds out a hand, and, hating myself, I take it.
His fingers fold around mine neatly, securely… too tightly. It fractures my heart, serving as a reminder that I’ve really lost him. I’ve lost every bit of ground I gained and catapulted myself back to the beginning of our story.
Who he was before is never coming back.