Page 184 of Change
It made sense, and I knew it. But why was he helping me now? He’d been avoiding me for weeks.
“Y-you hate me. Why…”
He rolled his eyes and dropped the point of the cane back to the floor. “You helped Gloria, and that places me in your debt. So, in repayment, I’ll leave you with this.” His posture was confident and calm, even though, in the end, he wasn’t telling me anything. “I don’t hate you. I just know you can dobetter. But Osian was too important to me for me to give up now.”
Osian.
The rest of his words were almost lost in the echoing bang this name shot through me, and the taste of damp moss almost overtook my senses. A chill shot down my spine, and, despite the still air of my room, I could have sworn I felt a warm, tickling breeze against my cheek.
Uncle Caleb didn’t even have to explain further—his levelled, expectant expression told me everything: Osian had been my name in my last life.
The others were still talking in low droning voices that had long since run together into an indiscernible mumble, and I sat in my cold room, humming lowly under my breath and rocking back and forth on my butt, as I waited for my thoughts to settle.
Osian.
But I was also Mu, and Bianca?
The names seemed to hold so much meaning, but also didn’t tell me anything. I was the same person I was moments before—and you would think this wouldn’t change a thing.
But Mu?
Even though I could hear him sometimes, even feel the electrifying rush when he’d controlled my movements, the idea of him still felt so far, fantastical. Like a faraway tale forever out of reach.
Osian though…
I could almost grasp it—I could almost remember.
While I racked my thoughts trying to reach into my most distant memories, all I could recall were the distant whispers in the night. Convoluted plots that made no sense, and discussions I couldn’t understand.
I’d wake up then, not able to remember the nightmares. Those were the times when Kieran stood guard outside of my bedroom door, while Sorcha would hold me tight in her arms, telling me that everything would be okay.
And then she would sing, and all my nightmares would fade away.
But what was it?
I stretched my legs in front of me, and they began to tingle as the blood rushed back into my limbs. The moon had set, leaving me alone in the darkness of my room with the echoing sounds of conversation in the distance.
What was I doing?
I shouldn’t be hiding here. That wasn’t me.
Disconnecting was easy—to allow others to worry for me, to make my decisions. That way, I would have nothing left to worry about, no responsibilities or failures.
However, that wasn’t what I wanted, and nothing would change.
But stepping up was hard. Success wasn’t guaranteed.
I’d tried so many times before. I’d spoken up for myself, and it seemed that every decision I’ve ever made backfired. How many self-pep-talks could one make before it became pathetic?
I would probably fail again too, and I would get hurt. But did it mean that I shouldn’t try?
The feeling was almost back in my legs, and I pulled myself to my feet, bracing myself against the door while I waited for the last of the prickling sensations to subside.
The buzzing, too, began to fade from my head, and I could also see my path. There was nothing wrong with leaning on others and accepting help. But at some point, you needed to stand up for your own self-interests too.
After all, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.
I moved to my door—ready to crash their party—but then I paused, glancing back to my neatly organized vanity.
