It took a month for Mabel to heal physically. Though I doubt her soul is healed too.

A month had passed since I kissed him, since I felt his trembling lips against mine. The image of it still lingered in my mind, like it happened a second ago. Like I felt his touch just right now and he wasn't his distanced, cold self but the caring, sensitive boy I remembered.

I don't know what broke him. Maybe it was his parents, though I knew there was more than that.

Kallias was difficult to read on a normal day, but lately, it was like he wasn't even the same person from one conversation to the next. Sometimes, he was himself—composed, untouchable, lips curled like he was always seconds away from laughing at me. But then there were moments when he was different. Sharper. His words would cut without hesitation, his eyes would narrow, and he'd look at me like he hated me more than he already should. Then, just as suddenly, he'd change again—softer, uncertain, looking at me like I was something fragile. Something worth yearning for.

Then there were the times he didn't seem like himself at all. When his posture would shift, when his voice would have a different weight to it, when the way he carried himself would feel wrong. Like he was a stranger wearing Kallias's face.

I'm not an idiot. I always noticed. I just never understood it.

Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was grief. Maybe I was imagining it, wanting something to be wrong with him because—because what? Because he was already wrong in so many ways? Because some bitter, angry part of me wanted proof that he wasn't as put together as he pretended to be?

I don't know.

I'll never know.

"You okay back there?" I looked at Mabel through the rearview mirror, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, thanks." She smiled back, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"We can stop if you want," Kallias chimed in, his voice steady as he sat in the passenger seat.

"No, I'm really okay. Are we going to be there soon?"

"Yes. I called the headmaster earlier today and asked if you could stay at my dorm for a bit. He obviously wouldn't allow it, so I had to share the true reason." As soon as the last few words left his mouth, Mabel tensed.

"You what?"

"I had to, Mabs. He allowed you to stay. Two weeks at mine, two weeks at Newt's. If more is necessary, I'll rent a little house near the university, leave the dorms, and move in there with you."

"How are you going to do that?" I asked, looking at him with confusion.

"I've got savings. I'll try to find a job, too."

"With your mood swings?" I attempted a joke, though I could see it on his face that he wasn't flattered. "I didn't—"

"They're not mood swings." He cut me off sharply, not even bothering to look at me.

That's what I mean when I say that he never acts like himself. I don't even know which part of him is real, because I can't remember the last time I saw it. Perhaps when he was panicking at the hospital, his trembling hands clenching my jacket and his lips—no. I can't keep thinking about it, I shouldn't.

I should hate him. For what he did to me, I should hate his guts. I should feel the need to smash his face, to yell at him until my voice gets hoarse. I shouldn't feel this weird, almost soft feeling towards him. I can't be feeling that.

"With who are you going to book her therapy sessions?" I asked, attempting to change the subject.

"I'll find someone."

"I know one."

"Do you now?" He scoffed, looking at me sharply.

"Kallias I'm just trying to help, I—"

"I can figure it out myself."

"Just a little reminder," Mabel sat up, raising her voice. "I'm sitting here too. And if I won't like the therapist, I won't go to therapy at all."

"That's not your decision."

"Oh but it is," her voice was sharper, like he was ready for a fight. "It's my life."

"Yeah, the one you tried to end!"

The second he yelled, I couldn't help but flinch. Silence settled, neither of us daring to utter a word before Kallias would say something.

"Mabs—"

Mabel slowly leaned back against her seat, putting her headphones on and turning on music so loudly that it could even reach my hearing.

"Mabel," he tried again, but still got no response.

He slid his fingers through his hair, messing it up as he sighed in frustration.

I didn't say anything. Wouldn't dare to. I hated the way his voice raised sometimes, and what I hated more, was how I reacted to it.

It wasn't because of him, no. It was because of that damn camp. It fucked me up so bad that now I had stuff like this to deal with.

I need to forget about it. I can't even explain how desperately I want to wake up one day with my memory wiped. It would mean that I'd forget Maliah too, but maybe that's for the better. Maybe I shouldn't remember her. I shouldn't remember that she died because of me. Because I wasn't brave enough to take a full punishment. But again, forgetting her would be selfish. I should remember, suffer through it. I guess that's what I deserve, or else I wouldn't be feeling this way.

My heart tightens in a way that makes it harder to breathe. Faces come back, flooding my mind and taking over everything I have. Soul, mind, even my body. I physically ache when I think about them. When I think about Chuck, or that hot-headed, always sharp—Gally.

He would've turned eighteen by now, but I had no idea where he was. Was he even alive? And if so, was he miserable like me, or tough as always? Had the camp broken him too, or was he too strong for that?

"Newt," I snapped back to reality, looking at Kallias who had just called me. "You okay?"

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Why?"

"Your hands are trembling."

I looked at my hands which were gripping the steering wheel tightly but still trembling uncontrollably. I tried to stop, but it was like my hands didn't even belong to me at the moment. "It's all good. Happens sometimes, nothing—" I pause, my mind going blank. No way I just forgot a word as easy as that. "What's the word..?"

His brows furrowed in confusion as he kept looking at me. "You mean... serious?"

"Yes, that. Nothing serious." I scoff, my body relaxing just slightly.

He didn't answer. Just nodded before looking away, averting his eyes at me.

I'm jealous of him. I'm so jealous of the fact that he can be himself, and I can't. So jealous of the fact that he won't flinch when someone moves too quickly toward him.

There are nights when I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I ever really left. If some part of me is seventeen, still barefoot on cold concrete, still flinching at the sound of boots against gravel. Two years have passed, but the memories cling like bruises—aching, but not visible enough for anyone to notice unless they look closely. No one ever looks closely.

Minho does, sometimes. In the quiet moments, when my hands start trembling when my body turns against me and shakes so hard I can't stop it, he just watches. He never says anything, never tries to fix it, but he stays. His silence feels like understanding, not pity. He's the only one who doesn't flinch when I forget simple words mid-sentence, when my thoughts scatter like broken glass, sharp but unreachable.

Kallias doesn't watch. Doesn't even realize. And why would he? In his mind, I spent my teenage years in London, sipping tea and reading philosophy books like some tragic literary hero. It's almost laughable. Almost.

I should hate him more than I do. Hate him enough to leave. But there's something about the way he exists—so oblivious, so unaware—that makes me stay. Maybe I want him to remember. Maybe I want him to hear me stutter over my own thoughts, to see my fingers twitch against the table, to watch me struggle for control over a body that still thinks it's trapped. Maybe I just want him to see me at all.

Because most of the time, I feel invisible. People hear my voice, they see me move, but no one really looks. They don't see the way my fingers curl into my palms when I feel the tremors coming, how I bite the inside of my cheek when I forget a word I should know, how I swallow down the frustration of my own mind working against me. They don't notice how exhausting it is to exist like this—to carry the weight of something I can't even explain.

But he should. Kallias, of all people, should look at me and see what he did. He should see the damage. The cracks. The empty spaces where whole pieces of me used to be. He should realize that when he opened his mouth and let that rumor slip, he didn't just change my life—he destroyed it. And yet, he walks around completely unaware, like the past never touched him. Like it was just another story, something that happened to someone else.

I wonder what he'd do if he knew the truth. If he knew that while he was moving on, living, forgetting, I was somewhere else, broken down and built back into something I don't even recognize. Would he care? Would he even believe me? Or would he still see me as the same person he knew before, as if time hadn't turned me into something unrecognizable?

I don't know if I want to find out.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Hey loves! I know it's been long since I last updated, but I hope it's still enjoyable:)

Leave feedback, I'd really appreciate it<3

That's all, take care!