❝ Every great story has a beginning, middle and end—not necessarily in that order. ❞ — Phil Kaye, Date & Time

trigger warning: discussions of suicidal ideation

The three days that followed, I went out of my way to avoid Theo at all costs. Matt had scolded him severely after our fight, but it did nothing to change things. Not that I expected that to happen.

Whenever I found myself in the same room with him, the words he'd spat out that day slapped me in the face over and over like a searing saucepan. They echoed inside my head on repeat, even more than Stella's muffled voice begging for help as the waves swallowed her whole.

You killed Stella.

Matt told me not to take it to heart—Theo didn't really mean it, had spoken only in the heat of the moment, he wasn't himself, etc etc. But I knew those were just empty words of comfort. Even he didn't believe them.

You killed Stella.

I don't know what stung worse, the way the blame in his voice matched the one in my heart or the fact he knew I believed those words, which was precisely why he'd yelled them at me. He wanted to hurt me, to press down on that wound because he knew it still bled, to make sure the blow landed—and landed hard.

You killed Stella.

Had I gotten the wrong impression of him from the beginning? Maybe this callous person who hurt me on purpose was the type of person he was. It wouldn't be the first time I was wrong about someone.

I remembered what I told Matt when he expressed surprise at the change in Theo's behavior, 'You've known him in a different time.' But sometimes, dire circumstances brought out the true colors in a person. What if this was who he really was, and the impression of that good-natured, Christian boy I met in Azkaban was just a facade? I should have listened to my initial gut feeling that told me not to trust him.

"You're wrong," Matt said to me one of those days when I voiced my concerns. "I know it's easy to think that, and I don't blame you. But whatever the hell this is, it's not him. I promise you. This is not the Theo Ransom I know."

"Then the Theo Ransom you know is gone."

I could see sheer pain flash across his face. "Then I've got to find a way to bring him back."

There were other times, when my brain convinced me I deserved that treatment. By not helping Stella when she called for my help, I had let her die. I had killed her. I had killed a twelve year old. My friend's younger sister, my boyfriend's cousin. Theo had every right to be as angry as he was. I deserved to feel awful, as a reminder that my hands would never be clean of her innocent blood.

I had also tried my best to keep myself from thinking of Christine and Alex in the midst of all this. How would they react when they found out? How would I even be able to look them in the eye, while I delivered the news? More than anything, my brain did all it could to suppress thoughts of Alex whenever they surfaced because I knew those alone would break me, if nothing else did.

I couldn't think of him. His face as I told him what I'd done. His kind eyes like two silver moons losing their spark, just like Stella's in my sleep, where I watched her death so clearly, so vividly, like a video on slow-motion. A part of me knew since that night when Stella drowned, when Alex's flower fell from my hair and got lost in the ocean, along with the ray of hope it carried, that my relationship with him had also seen its end. He would never want to even look at me again. I would lose his love, and Christine's friendship, and both of them from my life forever.

I already have, I thought.

When the thoughts got too much, I leaned against the trunk of a tree and emptied my bowels. Then came the tears.

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The second bread loaf and the chicken lasted another day, but soon enough, we were back to berries and hunting. Matt told me Theo succeeded in preparing the Healing Potion, so he was already looking better but I still refused to face him. I took every chance I could to leave the shed, and even though most of the time hunting proved fruitless and the mysterious woman didn't make another appearance, I still preferred walking through the enchanted forest rather than sitting in the warmth of our shelter.

During the night shifts, I kept my ears peeled for another sound of the boat, but it never came. Whoever had been here, good or bad, was gone. I didn't know whether to feel relieved or more desperate. There were times I experienced a twisted longing for Azkaban. At least there, as awful as things were and despite sitting on death row, I had my own living space, guaranteed meals three times a day and a guard who had been looking after me all along. We got to wash our clothes and shower once a week.

And Stella was still alive.

I pushed the thought away with so much force, my head physically hurt. After two hours of unsuccessful roaming for food in the forest, I had returned to the shed. Defeated. Tired. Wanting nothing but to sleep and not have to wake up again. I opened the storage door to put back the rope and dagger, when a thought struck me.

I headed for the restroom. For the first time in a while, I became aware of how long my hair had grown. It reached my waist and twisted in kinks and tangled clumps that looked as dry as a horse's tail. I grabbed a thick mass in one hand and with the other slid the blade of the dagger back and forth until the hair fell out. I repeated the same gesture a couple of times, until a dense mass of chopped-off hair filled the sink. What remained barely brushed my shoulders, the left side longer than the right.

I stared at the dry, matted chunks of blonde locks for so long, they didn't even feel like real hair anymore. I couldn't remember the last time my hair had been this short. Back home, the idea of chopping it off to this length never crossed my mind—I thought this haircut would only make my frizzy curls worse. But now, all I felt was a flood of relief.

I picked up the hair and tossed it in the trash before putting the dagger back in the storage closet and heading for the beach. The waves crashed into the shore, not strong enough to leave behind a trail of foamy effervescence, but lacking the gentleness of those tides that barely ruffled the waters. I heard the seagull's cry before I saw its snow white body swooping from the sunless sky and then landing at the edge of a cliff.

The cliff jutted out from the left side of the beach that separated our part of the island from whatever lay on the other side. I made my way toward the seagull, which turned its small head upon hearing my footsteps. Its golden eyes blinked once at me, then it croaked and opened its wings to fly away.

I walked to the edge of the cliff and sat so that my legs were dangling off. The rocky surface was cold and barren, but leafy branches and tree roots poked out every here and there. I felt the cold creep up the back of my now-exposed neck, no longer protected by my locks. The salty breeze whipped at my face.

I looked down at the sea, an expanse of washed out blue, and the idea of jumping off flitted across my mind. The fall itself wouldn't do much—I had seen trampolines higher than this cliff, and if the circumstances were different and the weather warmer, I would've dived into the sea for the pure fun of it. But it was likely there were rocks in the water. If I just gave my body a little push forward; not getting to my feet and leaping headfirst a couple of feet away as divers did, but just slipping off the cliff like this, on my feet, straight into the jagged rocks under the surface—

I snapped out of my thoughts at the sound of footsteps behind me. My shoulders tensed. I closed my eyes. I didn't have to look to know Theo was there.

"You cut your hair."

I didn't turn. "Your observation skills are on point."

He was silent. Part of me told me to stand up and walk away, but I couldn't find it in me to do that. I was tired. My body felt drained of every ounce of energy, even the needed amount to carry a grudge as I should. I was just tired.

"I owe you a big apology," he said.

"You think?"

"I'm sorry. Honestly. I know I've been a jerk with a giant J and I can't put into words how awful I feel about it. I know I hurt you and you have the right to be mad at me and not wanna speak me to me ever again. And I know if you had it your way, you wouldn't. I get it. I said some hurtful things, and I apologize."

"Wow." I cocked my head sideways so I could look at him. "You really rehearsed that one, didn't you?"

His cheeks flushed. "I-I wanted to get it right. But believe me, I mean every word. I really am sorry."

"But that's not all, is it?"

He breathed out a sigh and came to sit next to me on the cliff. In the light of day, I took a good look at him. Dark bags bulged out from under his eyes, bringing out the light brown color of his irises; his skin gave off a wan gleam and his raven hair curled inwards down his jaw. He looked healthier than before he took the Healing Potion, but only by a small degree.

"No, it ain't." He paused, contemplating where to start what he was about to say next. "Listen, there's a reason I've been acting the way I have lately. And I'm not saying that to justify my behavior or backtrack my apology. But I need you to know that I would never, ever lose my cool like that, if it wasn't for this . . ." He searched for the word. "I don't know. It's like this negative energy that feeds on me like a virus. It makes me think and say things I never would otherwise. I know it sounds like I'm tryna make an excuse, but if I don't get this out of my chest—" His voice broke. "I'm gonna lose my mind. For real."

"You're grieving," I said curtly, repeating the same words Matt told me the day he rescued me from drowning for the second time. "You've lost Zoë, you almost died of Dragon Pox, to an extent you also feel responsible for Stella's death. I get it."

"I knew you'd say something like that," he said. "You're right, yes, but . . . it's more than just that. This negative energy I'm carrying . . . seems to take those feelings and—and amplify them. Makes me see things very black and white. Remember that day I lashed out, I said I knew that you were thinkin' that if you'd left me behind, maybe Stella would still be here?"

I cast my gaze at the sea underneath, but didn't respond.

"I knew it wasn't a thought you could help, more like those intrusive ones everybody gets sometimes. I knew you felt guilty. But seein' you think like that . . . made me feel guilty, too. Cause yes, I shouldn't have made it. And then this energy, this dark force in me just . . . fed on those feelings and made me wanna hurt you by sayin' those things. It felt good to let out that anger and—" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Gosh, this is gonna sound bad, but . . . it felt good to see my words affect you. It was this crazy, addictive feeling. The more anger I released, the more unstoppable I felt and—"

He was silent for a while.

"That's why I grew so restless of sitting 'round. The more time I had to think and let my brain go in this downward spiral, the stronger that dark energy got. It consumed me. Then I got angry at it, at myself, at my condition. I needed to just get out so I could have stuff to keep me busy. But you wanna know the worst?"

I looked at him. His face screamed misery: eyes bloodshot like he hadn't slept in weeks, lips pursed in a tight line to keep himself from crying.

"The more this energy consumes me, the furthest from God's light I feel. It feeds me all these sacrilegious thoughts, makes me wanna go against the holy teachings I've always lived by. And yeah, I have questioned my faith before. When Zoë passed, when I got sick . . . I ain't proud of it, but it's true. I questioned everything: if there was a God, if He was listenin'. This dark force feeds on those doubts and tries to turn me against my own faith. Sometimes—"

His bottom lip trembled. He turned his face the other side and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. After taking a deep breath to stabilize his voice, he spoke again.

"Sometimes, I wonder if it's the Devil tryna tempt me. And then, I feel ashamed I even let him get under my skin. For a while, I tried to hold tighter to the Crucifix, but what's crazy is . . . I felt his presence stronger then. He's even tainting my memories of Zoë."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I see her," he said. "All the time. Even when I sleep—especially then. But it's not quite her, you know what I'm sayin'? She's angry and mean. Sometimes I wake up sweatin' in the middle of the night, and I see her standing over my bed and her eyes are red like the Devil's. She tells me it's my fault she died—I should've protected her better, I shouldn't have promised the Lord's grace would be with her in her last moments . . . She says that she—she's sufferin' in Hell."

He was crying now, the tears streaming down his face in irrepressible rivulets. "The Devil speaks to me in her voice. Every time. Every day. It's driving me mad. All my worst fears comin' alive. I don't know how to make it stop. I don't know how it even started. I just know it's taking over me, and every day I feel less and less like myself. And I-I can't take it anymore. If I don't find a way to stop it, I'm either gonna lose my mind . . . or kill myself."

I gave him a minute to bawl his eyes out as I looked down at the sea and contemplated, for the second time, if I should just jump. There was something oddly comforting about sitting with someone as they sobbed, knowing they weren't looking for comfort and that you didn't have to rack your brain for empty, inauthentic words to make them feel better.

"You have to keep it together," I finally said. "The future of Dolphinuses is in our hands. That's the thing about being forced to be a hero, you don't get to opt out. When your fate's decided for you, you lose about half your free will. Whatever you're feeling, it comes second; saving the world, first."

Theo sniffled. "Yeah, Matt told me somethin' about that."

"He told you about the prophecy?"

"Sorta. I haven't been the easiest to get along with lately, as you know, so he didn't talk specifics. But I looked into his thoughts to get the rest."

"Sucks, doesn't it? Can't even kill yourself if you want to."

"You weren't really about to do it, were you?" he asked, eyebrows drawn together with concern.

I didn't answer. The waves hissed beneath us as they crashed at the foot of the cliff, flicking sparks of icy water that didn't quite reach my legs. I searched for the seagull in the cloudless sky, but it had long since disappeared from sight.

"Don't blame yourself for Stella," said Theo. "I know you think you should, but that ain't gonna do anything. Eventually, it's just gonna kill you."

I could see the apprehension in his eyes that matched the quiver in his voice as those words left his mouth. He was worried about my reaction, if I'd lose my temper and storm off or tell him to get lost, even though all he was trying to do was not make me feel like utter garbage. But again, I couldn't find it in me to get angry, the same as I couldn't find it in me to appreciate his feeble attempt at comfort. I was just tired.

"There's no point to our lives," I said. "Even if we make it, will it matter? Say this is all over one day. We end the genocide, restore peace to wizardkind. The world will celebrate and worship us like saints. Is that victory? Will that make all the shit we've been through okay?"

Theo tightened his jaw and looked down at his knees. Zoë's words echoed in my head. In your mind, will I ever die? Will Stella?

"No," he said. "It won't."

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okay but the song 'amen' by amber run is so perfect for this chapter omg 🥺 i've put it up above so pls give it a listen