Were they really going through all of this, all of these years of insanity just to keep me safe? Do they even actually care for me or is this all out of obligation, to fulfill some celestial prophecy? To complete this timeline? And what of me now?
Maybe they would be better off without me ruining what’s left of their lives.
Without me giving them another lifetime of death, destruction, and tragedy.
Withoutme.
I’m alone. Just like before, but now I know what it feels like to not be.
How will I survive it?
I need Darius. He would make this all better. He always knows what to say.
But…but what if he doesn’t want me either?
After all, isn’t he in danger now because ofme?Stuck with his evil father.
The tears turn to loud sobs. They block out the altercation between Axel and Grayson.
“Sunday, hush, he didn’t mean it. My brother is an idiot. We all care about you, we aren’t going anywhere.” I feel the scratchy leather as Axel gathers me up. “We’re not going anywhere, I promise.Please.” He’s begging now.
But I don’t know what for.
My sobs intensify.
I am crying for myself.
For my previous selves.
For Julia. For Darius. For Tripp. For Auggie.
For this god-forsaken town.
For Jane and her daughter.
For the countless victims that came before them. For the many more that will follow.
For nothing. For everything.
I am a blubbering mess and I don’t know how to stop. It’s as if now that I am letting my emotions out, I can’t pull them back, can’t wrap them into a neat bow and leave them be. They are strings, frayed at the edges.
What if they went through all of that and I still die? Or even worse, their brother dies? What if to keep me alive someone has to trade places with me? Isn’t that how it always works?
I am hyperventilating now, I can’t stop it. My body is weak, damaged, and I’m in so much fucking pain. Emotionally, physically, spiritually.
Sunday your soul is marred.
The words aren’t my own, but they pop up into my mind as I continue devolving. I no longer feel Axel’s arms, hear his heart. I no longer see Grayson or smell the chemically sterile hospital room.
My vision twists to a bathtub, I want to fall into it, to calm myself down, but then I see it’s already occupied.
With my own body.
Pale and gaunt. Terrifying.
Lifeless. Bloated.
I scream. And scream. And scream. Until I’m breathless, until I can’t anymore. And then I’m coughing and wheezing and scratching at my throat. Arms grab me now, but they aren’t familiar. I attempt to fight them, to shake them off, but then my body stops cooperating. My motor skills devolve into a numbing chill.
