Page 76 of This Cruel Fate

“Of course. I can squeeze you in tomorrow around nine?”

“Okay.” Xolia breathed a deep sigh of relief. She could make it that long and then she could get everything off her chest and everything would be okay again. Xolia held the phone to her forehead, soaking in the precious moments of solitude. Nothing could shake her from her path, not anymore. It was right. It was her destiny. But that didn’t make it any easier to stomach. Having someone to talk to would ease the nerves that didn’t leave her alone no matter how hard she tried to meditate or distract herself.

Chapter Thirty-One

Xolia shifted closer to Adonis in the large bed. Heat radiated off him while she shivered. Her chest felt hollow; something bad was going to happen, she just couldn’t figure out what. She rolled over to check the time, seven-thirty. If she wanted to make it to Krista’s by nine, she would have to get up.

She procrastinated for a few minutes before dragging herself from the comfort of bed to the bathroom. Once she was ready, she made her way to the darkened living room to wait for the driver to arrive from the Presidential Palace. Ever since the attack, Peter had been insistent she only be driven in an armored car.

She ate a small breakfast, the thought of anything more unsettled her nerves. What would Krista think of her scar?

Xolia grabbed her coat and buttoned it up, double-checking that her scar was completely hidden from view. She avoided looking at her reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator. Emily was waiting for her in the lobby, ready to escort her to the car.

The sky above was cloudy and gray, with a freezing chill in the air. Xolia pulled her coat closer to her body and waited for the driver to open the back passenger door. She slid into the heated seats and Emily followed her. Once the driver was inside, they were off to Krista’s office.

Krista’s office was in a ward that Xolia hadn’t stepped foot in since their last appointment. It was in a neighborhood that didn’t know if it wanted to cater to commercial or residential buildings, which resulted in a mishmash of dull office buildings and high-rise apartment buildings that had lost their most respectable tenants a few decades ago.

Children played in rundown playgrounds, their coats shabby and weatherworn. It was hard for Xolia to tell a human child from a variant child. They rarely had scars, and even the most destitute of children she had come across could smile at a small paltry joke. Had she ever been that easy to comfort? Memories of running laps around fields crossed her mind. There had been no baby fat filling out her face, or that of her fellow variants.

Xolia frowned at the children. She hated them, through no fault of their own. She knew she shouldn’t hate them, and that made it worse because they were helpless and innocent, but she had been that way too and no one had saved her. They didn’t have much, but they had more than she’d had, and it wasn’t fair.

“We’re here,” the driver said. Xolia came back to herself and realized the car was parked, and Emily was staring at Xolia expectantly with her hand on the door handle.

“Ready?” she asked.

Xolia nodded. Emily slid out of the car and Xolia followed. Some of the kids stopped their games to look at them, but most didn’t pay Xolia any mind. She was no more interesting than the cold games of tag or hide-and-seek. Adults paid her more mind, their faces pinched like they were trying to place where they knew her from. Xolia kept her head held high and avoided making eye contact with anyone as she went inside Krista’s building.

Krista’s office was on the seventh floor. She and Emily entered a crowded elevator that crept past each floor. The stale smell of sweat nauseated Xolia. She had forgotten what the building was like outside the sanctuary Krista’s office provided.

She and Emily were the only two to step off at the seventh-floor stop, which relieved Xolia. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of therapy, rather that she didn’t entirely know the optics of a would-be elected official sitting in a psychologist’s office. Would the public worry she was incapable of handling such an important job?

Her scar burned and she struggled to breathe. Xolia resolutely ignored Emily even as she could feel the woman’s eyes becoming glued to her. “You can wait here.” Xolia gestured to a metal folding chair outside of Krista’s office. She knocked and waited half a minute until Krista’s familiar ‘come in’ invited her somewhere safe.

Everything was the same as last time. Everything except for Xolia. Krista was the same—the couch, the desk, the box of tissues on the coffee table. It was disconcerting, much to Xolia’s horror. She was the odd one out, the thing that didn’t quite fit in anymore.

“Xolia,” Krista said. “I’m so glad you reached out to me.”

“You are?” Xolia sat down, right in the center of the couch. Her spot.

Krista nodded. Xolia’s stomach fluttered. If people decided to question her choice to see a therapist, it didn’t matter—she had done the right thing.

“I saw what you did on the news.” Krista’s gaze dropped to Xolia’s neck. Krista didn’t look awed or inspired by it at all. No, she looked rather concerned. “I’m worried that you’re regressing or acting manic.”

“Manic?” Xolia clenched her jaw. The flutter turned to lead. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Xolia.” The way Krista stressed the first syllable of her name made Xolia see red. For the first time in seven years, Krista was treating her with pity. “In seven years, you never once expressed a belief in religion. In fact, you actively spoke against it. Calling yourself a religious leader after three months is something the old Xolia would do. We need to get you back into regular sessions.”

“You’re wrong,” Xolia said. She couldn’t stop the heaviness of her breathing. “I think I’m acting like myself for the first time in years.”

Krista arched an eyebrow. “And why do you feel that way?”

“Because.” Xolia chewed on the inside of her lip. This wasn’t why she came here; this wasn’t what she’d needed to get off her chest, but Krista wasn’t understanding her. “I’m doing something that matters again.”

“Being happy didn’t matter?”

“I wasn’t happy,” Xolia exploded. She leapt up from the couch, it wasn’t comfortable anymore. Maybe it never had been. “I wanted to be. You don’t know how badly I wanted it to be enough. But it wasn’t. This is, and you don’t even know what I’ve done to—” Xolia broke off. She couldn’t talk to Krista about Helen either.

“What did you do?” Krista uttered.

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