The first thing I do is shove all four Children of Hypnos books into the back corner of my closet and cover them with an old sweatshirt.
My empty desk reminds me of the computer that isn’t there anymore, so I throw my backpack, old track awards, and a few dirty shirts from the floor on top of it.
My phone is still pinging with notifications. I turn it off and lose it in the crack between the bed and the wall.
My heart races like I’ve finished a relay. Silence hangs thick in my room. I crawl under my covers, curl up tight, and talk to myself.
“It was an accident.”
“You didn’t know that would happen.”
“If they don’t forgive you, that’s their problem.”
To each statement, a low voice from the back of my mind replies:
“An accident you caused.”
“You knew you had responsibilities, and you ignored them.”
“Why should they forgive you? Why would you be worthy of forgiveness?”
I’m not. I’m not worthy.
Breathing becomes difficult. Tears well up. What am I going to do now? I can’t get back online. I’ve ruined everything I had at school. I blamed Ash for my mistakes like an absolute asshole, and now he probably hates me too.
A black tide crashes over me. Raw, undiluted fear: I am no good, I destroy everything I touch, no one will be able to be near me. I’m too strange, too different. I’m too much of an asshole. I start to cry and I can’t stop, can’t breathe, can’t move. If I move, something awful will happen, or I will have to deal with the consequences of all I’ve done.
A knock comes at the door. “Evie? You home?”
I can’t let her in. The need to hide trumps the need to cry. I wipe my eyes and clear my throat.
“Yeah, I’m home,” I call. “Tired.”
“Did your game go okay?”
“Yep.”
“Okay.” A pause. “Are you hungry for dinner?”
“No.”
Another pause. I know what she’s thinking. If I’m not hungry and I’m not giving a reason why, it’s because something is wrong. She doesn’t ask any more questions, though. She moves away from the door.
I stay in my room for the rest of the night.
I fall asleep at some point because I dream I’m in a terrible car crash. There’s a fire, a hospital, and a mirror. I see myself. The soft tissue of my face has been destroyed. I will never look like myself again. No one I know recognizes me. My life is irrevocably different, and there is nothing I can do about it.
I wake out of breath, heart thumping, my mind screaming at me to run even though there’s nothing to run from. It takes five minutes to fully convince myself I have not been burned in a fire.
It’s horrifying to realize it’s Sunday and there’s nothing for me to do. I wander around the house, trying to shake this deep sense of dread. I pour some cereal into a bowl and stare at it.
“You feeling okay?” Mom asks later, when she finds me still sitting there, staring at a bowl of dry Reese’s Puffs. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“You want to go to the nursery with me today? If you’re not playing your game—”
“I’ll go.” I say it too fast. I have to get out of the house. I have to do something to chase this nightmare away.
