But the thought evaporates almost as soon as it forms, incinerated by the sheer magnitude of what I almost did.
I gasp, a long, ragged inhale, and scramble backward off the bed, nearly falling, my back hitting the wall. I’m shaking, actually shaking, tremors running through my whole body like I’ve been electrocuted.
“Mia—fuck—I didn’t?—”
There are red marks on her skin where my fingers were. Red marks I put there.
“It’s okay,” she says, but her voice is hoarse and her eyes say otherwise. “I’m okay.”
“It’s not okay,” I say feebly, pathetically. I slide down the wall, my legs giving out, and end up on the floor with my head in my hands. “I hurt you. I almost—fuck, Mia, I almost?—”
“But you didn’t.” She’s off the bed now, approaching me slowly, like I’m a wild animal she’s not sure is safe. A predator in disguise. “You stopped. When I said the word, you stopped.”
“Only after you fought back,” I say, my voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have needed the word! I should have seen, I should have known—” I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to push back the sting of tears. “Something’s wrong withme. Whatever they did during the calibration, whatever—I’m not—I don’t?—”
But isn’t this you?a voice says.Isn’t this truly what you are, deep down?
Her hand touches my shoulder. Gentle. Tentative.
“Nate. Vanguard. Look at me.”
I shake my head. I can’t. I can’t look at her and see the marks I left.
“Please.”
Slowly, I drop my hands and force myself to meet her eyes.
She’s scared. She’s trying to hide it, but I can see it—the slight tremor in her hands, the way she’s keeping just a little more distance than she usually would. And beneath the fear, there’s something else, like she’s recategorizing me in her mind.
Monster. Threat. Weapon.
What was one of the very first things she ever said to me, at that gala in London?
“I think you’re a weapon.”
What if she was right?
What if everyone was right about me, and I’m the last one to know?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I know.” She swallows, wincing at the movement. “I know you are.”
Silence stretches between us, the room feeling small while the distance between us seems to grow. Outside, the city hums along, oblivious to what has broken inside.
“Maybe you should go,” I say finally. “I don’t…I don’t trust myself right now.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then, she stands, moving to the chair where her clothes are draped.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says.
I nod, my throat feeling too thick to speak.
She quickly gets dressed, and at the bedroom door, she pauses, looking back.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she says. “You know that? Whatever they did to you, it wasn’t your fault.”
Then, she’s gone.
