After we find her room, I set her down in front of her bathroom vanity. She hangs her head and won’t look at me directly. Blood is splattered on her face, and bruises form where that asshole hit her. Her hands are also bloody from beating him to a pulp. She probably didn’t need to strike him with lightning. She could have killed him with her bare hands.
I’m curious to know what he said to set her off with such a response. When I first entered the training room, I instantly spotted her in the lineup. At first, with her short hair and small frame, I thought she was a young teenage boy. With a closer look, it became clear he was a female.
For a brief moment, her actions reminded me of Grit. But I needed to remind myself that Grit loved her long hair. It was the only thing she liked about herself. She would never cut it short like this girl—long on top and clipped short on the sides. Grit’s was also a pale blond, almost white. This girl’s hair is a darker blond, streaked with blue. Grit didn’t have storm magic, and she sure as hell didn’t have energy magic that could knock down an entire room.
My mind was playing tricks on me. It’s just that time of year. That’s all. Last year, I drank myself into a stupor for an entire week. I hallucinated that I could feel her, feel her bond again, and saw her everywhere I went. When I sobered up and the reality hit me that she was gone, I tried to kill myself. That’s why I’m here. Sodie doesn’t trust me to be alone.
“Remove your jacket so we can clean you up,” I suggest. She nods. I help her out of her jacket. Blood from the cut on her neck soaked through to her shirt. “This, too.”
She lifts her shirt over her head, and I see the scars on her back. Fuck. I glance up in the mirror at her face, at more scars I didn’t notice right away. She washes her hands, and the scars on her arms shimmer in the bathroom light.
I inhale sharply and immediately want to kill whoever did this to her. No one deserves this kind of abuse. I fucking lived it, watched it, and I swore that if I ever returned to my territory, I would kill everyone responsible for what happened to Grit.
Her eyes dart to mine in the mirror, and I stumble back into the wall. Those eyes—fuck me, those eyes. “It’s pretty gross. I know.” She gives me a weak smile.
My hand reaches for my chest. I can’t breathe. Grit. I blink as my mind continues to play tricks on me. I squeeze my eyes shut and will away the memory of her. I picture the body pulled out of the ravine. It was unrecognizable. But traces of her hair were found.
I can’t breathe. Pain squeezes my heart like a vise.
She shakes me. “Hey. Take a deep breath. Just breathe.”
It’s not her voice. This girl’s voice is raspy. Grit’s voice was melodious, like the piano music she used to play. I breathe out deeply and pry my eyes open. Those same icy blue eyes stare at me. I’ve never met anyone with eyes like hers—so clear, like looking into a pool of crisp, clear water on a bright summer’s day.
She frowns and pulls away. “I’m sorry my scars freaked you out that much.”
She doesn’t understand. I’m not freaking out about her scars. It’s her eyes. Grit’s eyes. “How?” I whisper. How are you alive? How did you get those scars? She can’t be Grit. Everything about her is different.
Only her eyes are the same. Right? I study her face. Maybe her eyebrows are the same. No, it’s my mind again. I want it to be her. I want her to be Grit. I still haven’t let go. My guilt won’t freeme from her death. I was supposed to protect her. I promised to protect her.
She wrinkles her nose the way Grit used to. “Mmm. I don’t remember how I got them. I just remember waking up from a coma attached to tubes.”
“Someone tried to beat you to death?” I don’t really know why I ask. But I need to know. I need to know she isn’t Grit.
She shrugs. “Possibly. Like I said, I don’t remember. Don’t ask me where I’m from, if I got the scars at different times, or why I’m so small. I can’t answer those questions because I don’t remember my life before the incident.” She turns back to the sink to scrub off the blood.
I inventory her scars. Even her calves are marked. What the hell happened to her?
“Are you friends with Luke?” Her question throws me for a few milliseconds. Are Luke and I friends? We get along, better now that I can mask my features through my magic. I no longer have to avoid the group at school. He was the one who found me that night, when I attempted to take my life. He saved me from myself, stayed and talked me through my depression, which Sodie chalked up to girl problems.
Honestly, I was grateful because I didn’t want to reveal my backstory, for fear Luke would figure out who I really am.
Luke frowned and nodded his head. Even if he didn’t buy into the whole story, he didn’t push for more information either. To this day, he hasn’t asked about it. He just quietly joined Sodie, Liam, and Darwin on their twenty-four-hour suicide watch over the last several days.
Since this would be the second anniversary of Grit’s death and they were all worried I would have a repeat of last year.
On the anniversary of the night Grit went missing, he volunteered to stay with me overnight. When we were alone, he handed me a teal-colored bracelet, one of those knotted onesgirls make to give to their besties. I made an off-hand joke about him wanting to be besties. He just shook his head and said it was for suicide awareness. He wanted me to look at it as a symbol of resilience, a reminder of inner strength. He said that if there was ever a time I needed help or had those thoughts again, he would be my person, no judgement.
“We’re friends,” I tell her. Concern passes over her features. She purses her lips in distaste. I can’t help but notice how her lips are similar to Grit’s, and those long, dark lashes, too, maybe. How did anyone mistake her for a boy? She’s beautiful. Even the scars on her face can’t mask how pretty she is. I search for more similarities.
“He doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to friends of his. To be honest, you kind of give off shady vibes. So, do you mind giving me some space and let me get cleaned up… alone?”
I pull myself upright and look down at her. She’s short, slightly taller than Grit, but it’s been two years. Grit was also skinny. Her collarbones jutted out. This girl looks healthy, with contoured muscles along her arms and abdomen. I narrow my gaze and stare harder. A slight purple-blue tinge under eyes indicates she hasn’t slept much. I almost compare it to Grit’s shadows.
I need to stop doing this to myself. Grit is dead. As much as I don’t want to accept it, I can’t bring her back. I can’t invent similar features to bring her back to life. Maybe I couldn’t save Grit, but I can help to protect the Princess.
Chapter 63
Shedding Some Light
