#aresa

When he glanced back, he saw the only one like him left. Teresa stood there, staring up at the falling rubble. She wore a calm expression, her eyes closed as she waited for death.

She wanted to die. She wanted to leave everything behind.

It would be selfish to make her keep dealing with things she's known all of her life.

He screamed her name before he could register it, his hand reaching for her yards away. His head was already throbbing, a warning sign that he didn't have much longer left. He knew that there was no way this ended well for both of them.

But if he was going to to the Safe Haven, he wasn't going without her.

While injured, while his mind and body were refusing to cooperate, while he wasn't sure he could even stand much longer, he dug his feet into the ground. With his face twisting in concentration, he thought of why he was doing this.

He was too slow to save Rachel, and she paid the price in front of him. Teresa had been there though, talking with him in his head as they distracted each other from how badly it hurt. He had annoyed her to no end in the coma, bugging her until he could hear her eye roll. They used to exchange looks across the table when one of the scientists managed to screw up in ways they never would, a silent snicker shared between them. They had talked nonstop after the betrayal, going over what they wanted to do when this was all over.

“I’m pretty sure we’ll be all we have after this.”

“Maybe Thomas will come around?”

“Once his mind is set, that's it. Whatever we were, it's done.”

Whether that was or wasn't true didn't matter now. She was his best friend, and he wasn't going anywhere without her.

With a groan, he threw her to the ground. Her elbow scraped across the pavement right as concrete slammed beside her. It echoed in her ears as dust flooded her vision, filling her lungs. Her head was spinning as she found herself disoriented.

She was alive though.

With the events catching up to him, with every last effort reaching the end, he took a breath and collapsed.

@mystical-tmr

“What the hell?”he whispered, trembling as he got off. The once olive skinned boy stared at his bloody fists, his breathing heavy at the new skin tone and freckles littering his arms. It was sharp and short, something frantic and painful as he wheezed.

“Calm down, okay? Freaking out won’t help,”he tried to convince him, ignoring his own racing heart.

“Calm down? Calm down?! We just switched bodies! You could ruin my life!”he yelled, panting as he paced back and forth.

“Yeah, but-but you could ruin mine. Right? We need a truce. That’s all.”

He managed a slow breath, running a hand through his hair that felt wrong now. He nodded in agreement, closing his eyes as he tried to accept his new reality as Thomas.

They both walked home slowly, a particular limp in his step. They already knew each other’s house from before everything had gone wrong. He was familiar with the peeling blue paint outside it and the cobblestone steps. The struggling plants were still by the door with the white welcome mat that probably had the key under it.

He raised his hand to knock on the brown wooden door before remembering this was his house now.

That really made the reality of this hit way too hard.

He turned the bronze knob and walked inside. Everything was as he remembered. The blue and white curtains swayed from the open window, the glass door led to the backyard with the old trampoline, and the black couch was in the open dining room.

Along with Teresa.

“Jesus Tom, what happened?”

He stared blankly, brows furrowing in confusion. The door swayed behind him, the wind on his back. He looked behind him, seeming absolutely insane, before it struck him.

“Oh, uh, I got in a fight,”he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

She stormed over, something fiery brewing in her ocean blue eyes. Her dark hair waved behind her, even more pissed than she was. Her mouth countered in a deep frown as Thomas’s girlfriend snatched his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

It felt wrong. In any other circumstance, it would be.

This was not a normal circumstance though.

He couldn’t help but notice that her hands were soft, her grip gentle despite everything. Her nails were painted a dark blue, sparkling in the sun. He could tell by the shine and lack of scratches that it was recent.

He knew nothing about their relationship. Not one thing.

He knew how to treat girl’s though, and that would have to be enough.

“I told you that fight with Aris was stupid. I said it would end in some dumb tie where you both got absolutely pummeled,”she scolded, pulling him inside the bathroom. He stood there stiffly as she let go, though he couldn’t help that small egotistical pride that she had any confidence in him.

But she was correct.

“I’m sorry. You were right,”he said simply, his voice sincere despite everything. He probably would have been told the same thing if he explained it to anyone, minus the ending in a tie thing.

She blinked at him, her nose scrunching up. Her lips parted slightly in obvious surprise, like these were new words to her ears.

Damn. He knew Thomas was stubborn, but he didn’t think it was this bad.

“Thank you. Now come on. Sit,”she ordered, pointing to the marbled counter. He did so, his stomach lurching as he watched her pull a first aid kit and rag from under the sink. Running it under the water, she sighed as she shook her head.

“You knew this was a bad idea. You two were friends,”she remarked, pressing the rag gently to his cheek. His face burned at the contact, though a small whimper still left him, something that made her stop.

“He got you good, huh? Usually, you’re more of a groaner.”

He tried not to think of the double implication. After all, it could have been a casual remark. Something that meant exactly the situation. Something he would have to remember to play the part.

He couldn’t imagine Thomas getting hurt that often though, which didn’t make it better. Even in his body, he was pretty sure it was unforgivable to sleep with his girl.

“Guess so,”he agreed as she gently cleaned the marks. He closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing, face contorted in pain. When she was done, she opened the kit, picking out a decent bandage and some cream he didn’t care to read the name of.

Her fingers were careful, slowly rubbing it into his cheek that he had dug his nails into. His face was unnaturally warm, flushing red, something that wasn’t nearly as big a problem before.

“What’s up with you today?”she questioned, unpeeling the bandage. Sticking it to his injuries, she pressed it with her fingers.

“Bad decisions,”he answered truthfully.

“Guess you should listen next time,”she said softer, turning on the water.

“Yeah, it’s noted.”

She gave him another look before cupping his untouched cheek. Slowly, carefully, she leaned in. Not wanting to give it away, he closed his eyes, letting her brush her lips against his. Hers were soft, her hold gentle as she kissed him. His heart skipped a beat in a way that made him sick, the knowledge of his first kiss being as someone else freaking him out more than he’d like to admit. Plus, it couldn’t be ethical.

When she pulled away, him breathless, she wiped the blood from his lip. He was still, shoulders tense at the way she touched him.

When she wiped his nose, he pulled away, unconsciously covering it with his hand. She let him catch his breath, waiting for the pain to at least calm down.

“Yeah, I know,”she promised. With her voice calming him down, he pulled away, whispering for her to talk to him.

So she did. As she wiped the blood from his nose, doing her best to fix him up, she told him about her day. She told him about the new girl in class, she told him about how much she hated, in her own words, old dying hags on the road, and she told him about how she already knew what he was doing and was pissed off and worried the entire time she waited for him. Even as she led him to the freezer, finding the ice pack she made for him, she talked and talked, waiting for him to zone out.

He listened closely, nodding and smiling and agreeing at all the right parts. She talked in a way she never had, until she was out of breath, until he sat, wincing noticeably.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing. Probably a bruise,”he assured her.

Casually, way too calmly, she pulled his shirt up. His hands clenched his jeans as he resisted the urge to cover his face, pure embarrassment running through him as she looked at his now purple ribs.

“That's a lesson learned, isn't it?”she sighed, taking a seat beside him.

“That's definitely. . . one way to describe it.”

Her head leaned on his shoulder, something normal and relaxing. She had no reason to think otherwise, no reason to believe her coconut shampoo made him panic. With absolute horror, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, begging his mind to say something normal.

“Your nails are new. Pretty,”he came up with, heart still racing to the point where he thought he was gonna die. That didn't seem to be that far off as an option at this point.

“You noticed,”she smiled, then kissed him again.

And he hated how much he liked it.

He laid awake that night, trying not to go insane. He missed his white walls with half finished comic strips and off-putting sketches. He missed all the photographs he could never bear to take down and his brown desk scattered with papers and books. He missed his mom asking if he wanted seconds and how his dad awkwardly handed him a new novel because he was weird with affection. He missed his green bedsheets that matched nothing and probably had a history book hidden in them. He missed late night texts from Rachel when neither of them could sleep.

He missed his life.

Thomas was nothing like him. Not really. He had a bookshelf with science and biology and something with a weird title. He had half finished projects on his windowsill, microscopes and jars with whatever was fascinating him that week but were probably just a little illegal. His blue and white blankets felt too warm, like the room needed something light and colorful. His rug had a brown stain that suddenly made Aris worry about the pajamas he left on his floor that morning.

He didn't want to be anyone else. He didn't want to be friends with Minho, who was always passive aggressive to him. He didn't want to pay an insane amount of attention in science or actually participate in gym class when he could just run on his own time. He didn't want to have hair that he could actually feel on his neck. He didn't want to lie to Teresa.

He wouldn't be able to sleep. Not until he at least got some of his stuff back.

So he sat up and went to the hobby he silently prayed he was still decent at.

He knew where her locker was too. He knew more about Thomas than he actually thought. They had met after class a few times, one of which he had to talk to Teresa about something. Their voices were hushed but fast before they noticed him, clearly something personal. He had caught the words Brenda and drunken mistake by the time they realized.

There was a side to take. He knew that.

He just didn't care enough to get involved, and he made that very clear when Thomas started to talk to him about it when she stormed off. Whatever happened, he wanted no part of. He had enough going on in his life, and he already knew his friend had a habit of self-sabotage. He could only take so much of it, and it really didn't seem right to only have one side of the story.

Anyways, the point was he knew where to find her before class.

She had an earbud in, as her face was scrunched up, while she was writing something in an old black notebook covered in stickers. Her tongue was out slightly, clearly deep in thought, as her pen moved frantically across the page.

“Bit early in the morning to be journaling, isn't it?”he remarked, holding back his own yawn.

“It's Monday,”she said simply.

“So?”

“So I have to write my to-do list for the week,”she said sharply, giving him a look that told him he should know this.

“Sorry, I've been distracted,”he apologized.

“I'm sure. You look tired,”she nodded, taking in the unusual eye bags.

“It's nothing new,”he shrugged, leaning against the locker beside her. She raised an eyebrow, peering at him in a way that made him think she could read his mind. If she could, she let it go, her shoulders relaxing as she dropped the book in her backpack.

“What's with the bag?”she asked, her eyes trailing down his hands.

“Oh! Almost forgot,”he said brightly. With that nervous, giveaway smile he always hated, he pulled the flowers out of the bag. The bouquet was smaller than store brought ones, seeing as he was on a time limit, but they were still nice. White paper had been colored blue and purple, the two colors he noticed she constantly had on. There was a few pink as well, for the cliche of it all. The stems were wrapped with a small black ribbon he had scavenged from the kitchen, holding it all together.

“What's this for?”she asked, spinning it in her hand, eyes narrowed like she was searching for something.

“Like I said, couldn't sleep. I figured I may as well try to make up for ignoring you.”

She watched him a little too closely, in a way that made him sure she already knew the truth. When she smiled though, gently wrapping her arms around him, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, making her pull apart in case it was something important. While it was just an Instagram notification for a picture she posted three months ago, the way it lit up showed something more important.

“I love that band!”he said a little too loudly, completely forgetting that he had no idea if that was true for Thomas. He had always been one for music, living it, breathing out, tuning out the world for the sake of something better.

She glanced down at Sweater Weather like it wasn't real, her expression switching to genuine concern. Her mind raced with possibilities that made her sick. What if he was just being extra nice to make up for what happened? What if he was trying to force himself to be in love with her? What if he was going to go back to the old Tom in a week?

“No you don't? You just called them cliche a week ago?”

He cursed in his head, resisting the urge to scream. This was already difficult, and it was only day two.

“I uh, I actually listened to them recently. On the radio. I just . . . didn't know it was them until I looked it up,”he barely excused, sweating through his shirt. His eyes looked into hers for a reaction instead of darting away like when her lover would lie. While she still felt something off, she had to let that be enough.

Before something else could go wrong, the bell rang, loud and obnoxious. She carefully placed the flowers in her locker before putting a hand on his chest. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, something small and normal, before walking him, leaving him fighting for his life in the middle of the hallway.

When he was walking for lunch, his social battery already running low, he was pulled into a storage closet by the back of his shirt. His first thought was that he should probably scream. The second was that this was definitely the start of a true crime podcast.

When the light turned on, and it was, well, him, he let out a groan, covering his face with his hands.

“What the hell, Thomas? I thought I was going to die.”

“I got it, I got it! I know how we can switch back.”

His ears perked up at this, though partly with suspicion. They weren't even sure how this happened, and there was already a cure?

Then again, he would take what he could get.

“What do you have?”

“The next full moon-”

“Of course it is.”

“We have to recreate what caused the switch!”

He stared blankly, mouth ajar as he was working through the logistics of it all.

“So do I have to punch you in the nose again? Or would you do it because you're technically me? And what if-”

“I don't know, okay? I just found this last night.”

“Where the hell was this information available?”

“I hired an Etsy witch.”

Aris stared at the overconfident Thomas with pure disappointment, giving him a tired look as he rubbed his temple.

“The ones known for being scammers?”he said through gritted teeth.

“Well, I'm sorry I was looking for solutions.”

“Wait, we haven't traded wallets? Did you-did you seriously use my card for an Etsy witch?”

“No actually. I couldn't find your wallet in your desk. I used your mom's,”he admitted, mumbling the last part.

He took a deep breath before turning around, calmly banging his head against the door. Every time this science nerd opened his mouth, he was more and more convinced he wasn't a real person. There was just no way someone could be so smart yet make such bad decisions.

“Thomas, I am really, really going to enjoy punching you in the face at the end of the month.”

And with that, he left, already done with this.

Aris learned quickly how to be Thomas. He learned how to text Rachel late at night, talking about life and sending each other meme's and how to laugh at Minho's jokes, who wasn't so bad to hang out with as someone else. He learned to make excuses for why he sounded weird whenever Sonya called and how to pretend he was just too deep in thought to answer questions in biology.

The one thing he was having trouble with?

Teresa. Sure, she was happy, but there always seemed to be a hint of surprise with it. He knew he should pull back, felt guilty every time she smiled because he knew that would only make it worse when everything went back to normal.

But he couldn't help it. He liked doing these things now. He liked holding her hand between classes and carrying her bag. He liked making her playlists and bringing her snacks for no reason. He liked sitting in silence, her reading and him drawing. He liked sharing headphones and cuddling on the couch, and most of all, he liked her. He liked her a lot.

And as they sat on the swings, the lake shining in front of them and half finished picnic basket beside them, he told himself he didn't.

She had clearly dressed up. Her good dark blue, wavy skirt that she saved for presentations, white lace at the bottom hung delicately around her legs. Black leggings ensured she could swing as high as she wanted, even with the matching black flats. Her white blouse was tucked into the outfit, stopping at her elbows. Her dark hair was in a ponytail, tied with a ribbon he had scavenged from Thomas's kitchen. Light blue eyeshadow and dark liner smudged her eyes, with pink lipgloss that made her painfully kissable.

“You look beautiful,”he said simply, watching her sway back and forth, head against the chains.

“You look nice too,”she smiled. He nodded casually despite how his heart skipped a beat. He knew he was underdressed, with black jeans and a plain t-shirt and blue jacket. He had tried to be fair, had overthought every decision, but he had never been on a date before, and Pinterest just wanted him to spend money.

She shivered at the evening breeze, her arms folding to try and warm herself. Without thinking about it, he stood behind her, draping the jacket gently over her shoulders. She turned her head, looking at him softer than she ever had in these two weeks, like she had already decided everything was fine.

“I love you.”

She seemed breathless as she said, like the three words held heavy weight. As he felt them on his shoulders, knew they were the reason his skin yearned for something more, he understood he couldn't keep hiding the truth.

They did.

“Teresa, I-I have to tell you something.”

Her heart dropped at the familiar words, eyes turning to the ground even though part of her had been prepared for this. Dragging his feet over to his side, he sat down, his legs trembling as he had to hold the chains for stability.

“I'm not who you think I am. I haven't been for a while,”he whispered, his grip tightening so hard his knuckles turned white. She looked up once, lips downturned in a frown.

“That day I came home, after the fight, something happened. Something neither of us can really explain. I-I just know it sounds insane, which is why we agreed not to tell anyone, but I think-I know it's wrong for you to not know. And I'm sorry,”he breathed out, his voice cracking as he closed his eyes.

It would end if it all came out. No second date, no gentle kisses, no sweet conversation.

But the longer he waited, the more it would hurt.

“Tom, you're scaring me. Just tell me what's going on?”she pleaded.

“I-I'm not him. I'm not Thomas.”

His eyes remained firmly shut, something deep aching in his chest as she looked at him for the first time. Really looked at him. At the way he scratched his neck when he was nervous, at the way he kept trying to brush his hair out of his face, at the way he remembered everything she said, at the way he wrapped his arms around her shoulders when he hugged her, at the way he stepped back during social settings, at the way he covered his eyes when it was too sunny.

She looked at him, and she understood.

“You're Aris.”

She said it as a statement, like it had always been normal and always been true.

Then, she got up and left, leaving him silently crying on the swing set.

Thomas woke up, crossing another day off the calendar. He was almost jumping for joy, waiting for the end of the month, when everything could finally go back to normal. He skipped down the stairs in a non-Aris fashion, excitement etched on his face.

Aris faked a stomach bug and stayed under the bedsheets, wishing there was a way to fall out of love. He curled himself into a ball as he listened to the humming of the empty house, something inside of him breaking. He was out of tears by now, leaving a stained pillow and red eyes.

She looked for him at her locker. She had been up late, trying to think of what to say, if there was anything to say.

It hurt to know she was lied to. It cut deep to know she was with someone completely different.

It hurt to know she wanted to go back to when she didn't know and stay with him forever.

She waited for him, searching the crowded halls. Her hand felt too cold without his, like she had been abandoned. The feeling was everything it shouldn't be, something deep and longing, something she hadn't had for a long time.

When she looked back at her locker, at the origami flowers that brought her so much joy, her body went cold. She wanted them, wanted more from him. Not as Thomas but as him. As Aris.

Without thinking about it, she slammed the locker shut and stormed out the school, her head high in that Teresa Agnes determination for the boy who remembered her favorite vending machine snacks.

He was still in pajamas, curled up on the couch as he watched a horror movie. He didn't particularly like them, but it was the only genre that wouldn't remind him of her.

As he watched a clown literally devour a small child, the door slammed open, making him scream as he fell off the couch, the blanket still wrapped around him.

“Sorry. I didn't think you were really into . . . that,”she trailed off, making a face at the scene.

He looked up at her, swallowing as he begged his mouth to cooperate. He knew he looked a mess, puffy cheeks and knotted hair. He looked exactly as he felt, which was not exactly how he wanted anyone to see him.

“I'm not,”he finally got out, unraveling himself from the blanket as he stood up, doing his best to wipe his eyes.

They stared at each other, trying to decipher what came next. This was never in anyone's life plans, much less theirs.

But life doesn't really follow a map, even if you perfectly draw it out.

“Was it real for you? At all?”she finally asked.

“Not at first. I was just-I was trying to be him. Then, I don't know, I wanted you to want me to be . . . me.”

“You-you do know this sounds insane, right?”she checked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I still can barely believe it.”

“So why tell me?”

“Because you deserved the truth. There might be a way for us to switch back at the end of the month, and that was too long to keep lying to you. I mean, I never should have lied, but we made a deal. I live his life, he lives mine.”

She sighed as she sat down, her hands in her lap as she stared at the ground. He kept a safe distance as he did the same, his arms glued to his sides.

“He slept with Brenda once. Said he had too much to drink, said it was a mistake, said he loved me, finally said sorry. He's really bad at saying sorry, at admitting when he's wrong. He's stubborn like that. He finds it hard to focus too. To listen properly, to remember things. It's like his brain is always somewhere else, and I wasn't allowed at the front of it.”

He watched her shoulders shake, silent tears spilling from her eyes. Still, she continued through the lump in her throat.

“I thought-I thought he was getting better. I thought he would-that we would break up at first, then I thought he was trying. And the whole time, it was-it wasn't him. It was you,”she got out, her face in her hands. Broken sobs left her, agonizing and deep, like a hidden truth had finally been pried out of her throat. It was a painful sound to listen to, a painful sight to watch. The normally strong-willed, level-headed girl was breaking down in front of him, finally admitting her relationship wasn't as strong as it should be.

When he wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking her hair, she collapsed against him, her face buried in his shirt. There was a deep hatred for the one comforting her, for the mouth whispering that she could let it out, and a deep want for the heart to match the face.

She looked up at him, sniffling as short breaths got past her. Taking her face in his hands, he wiped her tears, his temple pressed against hers as he promised she would be okay.

With that making the decision too easy, she pressed her mouth against his and kissed him. And he felt not an ounce of guilt as he kissed back.

“So Clara-”

“You mean the Etsy witch?”

“Yes, the Etsy witch,”he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Clarified that we have to recreate it in the bodies we had. So you have to punch me.”

“God, this keeps getting dumber,”he said to himself.

“There's a problem though,”he mumbled.

“Worse than the body swapping?”

“Kind of? We have to recreate it with emotions too. So anger. But I'm not mad at you anymore.”

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come.

“I told Teresa the truth, and she told me you were a shitty boyfriend. So, long story short, I had your girl for two weeks, and she's mine now.”

He watched Thomas shake, jaw clenching as he stared at him with absolute hate. As he did, he thought about it all. How he had betrayed Teresa, how he made her cry, how he made her doubt love, and felt something hot and angry burning him.

He did say he would enjoy punching him, but he didn't think he would still mean it.

With his fist rolling into a tight ball, he punched him so hard his head went back, his fists connecting with his nose. He felt like the lights in his head had turned off, like something was horribly, horribly wrong.

When they came to, Aris on the ground and Thomas standing over him, they realized the Etsy witch was worth fifty bucks and grounding.

Before Thomas could do any more damage, he grabbed his bike, riding with a broken nose and victory. He felt like something had been lifted off his chest, something freeing and perfect. It was like life was finally beginning, like everything he ever wanted was given straight to him. With blood pouring down his face, he pedaled and pedaled, a stupid smile making its way to his lips.

When he got to her house, he threw the bike in the grass, sprinting to the door. He was breathing heavily as he knocked, wide and crazed and lovesick eyes shining brightly.

She opened it to see him standing there, an expression only he could give her etched on his pretty face.

And before the neighbors could see, she dragged him inside and kissed him, prepared to fix him up like when this wonderful disaster of a love story had started.

The lopsided cabin wasn't the most ideal, but they were science nerds. Building wasn't their forte. So once they finally finished one, they gave up and figured out what to do with the accidental extra room. They weren't gardeners, they weren't hunters, and they weren't seamstresses, but they sure as hell figured out how to do everything. There wasn't much of a choice since he wanted to throw everything off track.

“I like it. Isolated away from everyone, get to do as many dangerous things as I want, it's great,”he shrugged.

“We’re isolated because everyone we love is dead,”she reminded him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Everyone we love always dies anyway. Made a friend in the Maze? Dead. Think you'll live happily ever after with the love of your life? Dead. The mentor you have a complicated relationship with since she basically raised you? Take a guess.”

“There were plenty of non-dead people.”

“Oh yeah. All six of them. And three of them hated us.”

She rolled her eyes before tying her shoes. He took no offense to it, no offense to anything she said after the first three weeks of knowing her. He kind of had to adapt after consistently being ruthlessly bullied.

“You can't be mad at me for something I don't even know how I did. You were standing still, I threw my hands out and said move, and boom. Now we get to be together forever.”

“Well, unboom me then? The end goal of standing still was dying.”

“I know. And now you're not suicidal anymore. You're welcome.”

She glared at him before grabbing her other shoe. He ducked down a second too late as he was hit in the shoulder. He was always avoiding things now, dodging and rolling like he was on an obstacle course.

“Alright, alright. Sorry for saving your life. Again.”

“And somehow you still screwed that up.”

“Maybe. But there's a bluejay outside and you love those things. And, thanks to me of course, now you know that. You're welcome.”

“I’m going to kill you one day.”

“You better figure out how first.”

@mystical-tmr

Before the sight could make me throw up in my mouth, I turned back around, storming as far away from everyone as possible. Nobody even noticed, all caught up in their own lives, talking to their own friends. They were laughing, talking, smiling, not an ounce of guilt or distraught to be seen.

Must be nice.

They're all so happy here. They understand loss, but they found a way to make peace with that dull ache in their hearts. They become someone their friends can be proud of.

It makes sense that’s not me, doesn't it? I’m not them. I’ve never been one of them from the beginning. Thomas, at least he gets this strange middle ground where his lack of memories lets him pretend to be. Brenda and Jorge, they just got to start fresh, to drop in as if they were always there.

It wouldn't be a lot if Rachel and Teresa were here. There would only be two people that understand everything, who I could explain all the shame and sacrifice that I don't know how to live with without being looked at as a one-dimensional villain.

It would be enough though.

“Come on. Just respond. Give me something?”I begged, throwing my hands up in the air as if that would do something. All I got back was the sea splashing below me, my feet having brought me to the cliff that I can never seem to get away from.

With a pathetic sigh, I sat down in the spot I’ve silently claimed, an uncomfortable patch of grass that nobody ever cares about. Who wants to sit at the top of a random cliff with a single tree and nothing else to see? Who wants to stare at the sky and think about how the only one they’ve ever seen that was actually nice like that was made by their hands.

I should have done better. Before all of this went down. Before I was making the Mazes. Before I was pretending not to know those people I always caught glimpses of. Before I was fighting people that were involved in caring for me as I grew up.

“Please?”

The birds chirped someone above me, the only answer to my plea. It was highpitched, a happy and bright sound that was so full of purity.

It's not them. It's not Teresa and Rachel.

I’ve known so many girls in my life. Some good, some bad, some weird, some tall, some short, some that hated me, some that liked me.

But only two have ever loved me in any way. Only two have ever looked after me when we were all in over our heads. Only two have ever asked if I was okay and actually cared about what the answer was.

Only two have ever been up for hours learning telepathy with me.