I pause.
“Yeah,” I say, a little flatter than I intended. “Except the wraiths.”
To be honest, the wraiths have slipped completely into the background of my life. Who cares about them when I’m dealing with a real, living murderer made of flesh and bone? I’ve got cellmates now. Two girls’ lives are riding on me.
“But I’m not going to lie,” I add quickly, because I can hear how that sounded, “getting my powers back would help me handle those too.”
Pain just stares at me, and something about it feels strange. I’ve wanted to talk to him for so long that I don’t even have the energy to cuss him out. Usually we bicker. Usually we snap at each other like it’s our shared love language. Usually we hate each other.
Now I’m just grateful he’s here. Call it the effect of a claustrophobic prison. It makes you open up to the unusual stuff.
“I can’t,” he says after a moment.
For a second, I stay in my nice little bubble, like his words bounce off without sinking in. Then my brain catches up, and the smile drops clean off my face.
“What?”
“I can’t merge with you,” he repeats.
Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me. Is this yet another moment where I find out I’m screwed? I don’t want that. Nope. I refuse. I’m already shaking my head when a sharp, annoyed laugh punches out of my chest.
I hold his gaze. “You too?” I ask. “Seriously, Pain. You are supposed to help me. Help. Do you know what help means?”
Just like that, whatever bubble of niceties we managed to create between us pops.
“Are you really going to treat me like that now?” he asks. “Skye, I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Too fucking late!”
“You are too fucking late,” he counters. “Your brain developed too fucking late.”
And I actually have to inhale and hold the air in my lungs at that. I do not know what is more annoying: the fact that hisattitude matches his external teenage looks, or the fact that he is me, and that childish response is a figment of my own being.
Either way, I feel embarrassed.
“I came when I heard the call,” he says. “It’s not my fault that all you needed was five seconds without me to put yourself in some life-and-death situation that could have been avoided.”
He snorts and looks away. I am still holding the air in my lungs.
When he notices I am not breathing, he turns back toward me. “Want to suffocate all over again?” he asks. “Be my fucking guest.”
And to think we started this entire interaction so well. Clearly, we cannot keep that up for long.
No. I should not give in to this. I should act like an adult. Be mature and all.
I exhale.
“I expressed myself wrong,” I say slowly. “All I meant to say is that I really hoped you’d appear earlier. I thought if you did, you’d save the day.”
“I can’t!” he exclaims. “I literally can’t! It’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t just flip a switch like that.” He throws his hands up, frustration cracking through his voice. “We got divided into the living and dead parts of our soul. If we want to fuse back together, we have to bridge the gap.”
That’s confusing enough that I just stare at him, waiting for the part that makes sense.
“It means you need to accept that you’re dead and stop chasing life the way you are,” he says, each sentence sharpening as it lands. “All you ever do is have sex, avoid your Grim Reaper duties, and reminisce about what it used to be like to be human. You’re not human, Skye. You might look like one, but you’re not.”
