Page 109 of Awakened

No, no, no, no!

What have I done?

My eyes latch onto Vae’s. For once, I’m looking to him for help. For a fucking lifeline to hold onto so I don’t drown in this fucking ocean of guilt that’s pulling me under.

But all I see in his eyes are my own emotions reflected at me.

Horror. Self-loathing. Desperation.

His grip on my upper arms is painful, but right now, it’s the only thing keeping me from losing it completely.

Until his emerald eyes turn pleading and he asks, “What—what do we do? How do we fix this?”

It takes everything in me not to laugh. Fix this? FIX. THIS?

Doesn’t he fucking get it? There is no fixing this!

Like the world’s shittiest movie, moments from the last two weeks replay in my mind, each worse than the last: every cruel word, every mocking phrase, every sneer and glare and accusation.

I reach for grief and self-righteousness, but that lens is gone, crushed by the weight of truth and my own ignorance.

Each moment unfolds in stark clarity, forcing me to acknowledge everything I’ve previously been content to ignore. Like a play I’ve seen a thousand times performed in a language I didn’t know but was pretending to understand.

The night we brought her back to HQ. Silas carrying her to the holding cell. Water dripping from still-wet linen, leaving a pink-hued trail of droplets on the tile floor of the med bay in his wake.

A pale arm, covered in bruises, swaying limply with each of Silas’s steps. She was thin, like she hadn’t eaten in months.

She didn’t fight back, not even when Silas wrenched the door open and tossed her in.

The sound of her body landing on the concrete. Her pained whimper cut off by the slam of the cell door.

When she asked about Caelan’s gunshot wound… Fates, there had been genuine distress in her voice. I can see it now. So fucking clear it’s painful.

I lunged at her, like a monster. I terrified her.

The light fading from her bright blue eyes. Until nothing remained but acceptance. Resignation. A scared, injured Omega, moments from death, who always knew this moment would come for her eventually.

Who always expected to die at the hands of an Alpha. A male who should have protected her. Who didn’t understand her.

Who didn’t care to try.

Fuck! I saw it. In the seconds before her eyes closed, I fucking saw it. A spark of—something. A last desperate wish for…for… what?

My hands curl into fists. I fight to hold onto the image—dissecting each micro-expression in that moment as I search for the answer.

What did she pray for in what she was sure were her final breaths? And why am I only now recalling my own memory of that moment?

Right as the answer begins to sharpen, the memory is yanked away, and I’m thrown into another.

Then another.

And another.

Another.

One after the next after the next until my stomach heaves and my Alpha snarls in rage and contempt.

That’s when I realize these memories are coming from him. They’re mine… and they’re not mine. The memories are the same, but the attention to detail… That’s different. Like the same shot taken from two different angles. My supposed logic vs my Alpha’s priorities. Two sides of the same coin.