Page 126 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
I turn away, staring out the window and into the academy garden. I want to tell her—to come out and say it.
I wanted you to have love, and instead, I have made you lose it.
Though my desire to say that isn’t entirely for her. It’s for my own guilt, my own grief, the weight I’ve piled onto the tower of my mind. I need to unload it, to ease the pressure before it crushes me.
I plan to do it, but as I begin to say, “Calista,” the words freeze in my throat. I regret it instantly.
But it’s too late. She’s already waiting, expecting something.
“What?” she asks, sitting up with a sharp tilt of her head.
I open my mouth. Once more, nothing comes out. Like I’ve lost myself somewhere between the words I’m not saying.
Calista’s eyes narrow, her mouth opening slightly as the mechanisms of her mind crank. I begin to shake my head—to try to explain myself—as I feel her putting together the pieces I failed to share.
Silent and steady betrayal pumps from my heart to my bloodstream. The rapid thumping in my chest is on the cusp of a heart attack.
“Oh my gods.” Her voice catches. I try to shake my head, but she cuts me off. “This was you.”
I bite my bottom lip, rising to my feet and walking slowly around the edge of the bed toward her. “Calista—”
She scoots back, drawing in a shaking breath, like death rattling in her chest.
“It really was.” Her eyes widen as the truth unfolds in front of her. The page I tried to crumple irons out, but the creases made will never be reversed.
Calista wasn’tsureit was me. My response has confirmed her suspicion.
“No.” I shake my head, panic rising. “It wasn’t like that—”
“You made me tell her.” Calista’s voice is sharp and accusing. Her irises glow an unsettling yellow. She pins me with her gaze as she says, “Did you think I wouldn’t remember? You may have power, Estridon, but I have memory.”
My throat tightens, and the walls close in. I shake my head again, tears forming with fear—the fear of losing yet another person by my own hand.
“I thought I was helping.” My voice is raw with regret.
She sneers, her face twisting with a mixture of fury and hurt—nearly hate.
“Wendy Estridon,” she says, the cadence of her tone not matching the anguish of her face. Her words are quiet, icy, laced with silent fury. “You ruined my life.”
“I’m sorry—” I start, but the words are swallowed by the storm of her emotions.
“I told you never to use that language with me!” She turns toward the door, her back to me as she finishes, “We both knew this friendship was one of convenience. But it’s not convenient anymore.”
The door slams with a force that shakes the room, leaving me with nothing but the echo of loss. The pain of both her betrayal and my own actions.
I collapse to the floor, lying like a fetus. I’ve done it now—chased the last person away. Ruined the last relationship I had.At least I didn’t kill her, I think. I wonder if that would be any less painful.
This time, I did it all on my own—it wasn’t an accident or a mistake. This time, the choice that led to loss was an active one.
I close my eyes, and the world in my mind is a blur. Nearly a blank slate. The whites and the greens of my room blend until they’re gray. A sour sight for a sore soul.
I search the premises for the boy, but there’s nothing to see. Nothing but a scratched-out page. Scribbles on recycled paper.
“Please!”I call to him, for the first time wishing he had a name. A way to get his attention.“Please, I need you!”
From behind me, the boy taps my shoulder. I quickly turn, wrapping my arms around his shoulder as I fall into him.
“I’ve done it again.”
