Chapter 38: Needy

~~~

It had been a few days since I first snuck out of the house. Since then, I’d kept the habit going, slipping past the windows each morning after Nora left for the academy.

She always left early, planting a kiss on my forehead or cheek before quietly slipping out, thinking I was still asleep. And every time, she'd leave a bit of money behind, tucked neatly on the kitchen counter with a note: “For breakfast~lunch. Order whatever you like.”

I did, though not for breakfast. Instead, I pocketed the cash with a tight jaw and used it to pay for the taxi, the same one I hailed each morning like clockwork. I’m sure she would’ve been disappointed to find I was doing all this, but I told myself this mattered more. I needed to know the truth.

I got into the cab, the city passed by in streaks of gray and soft neon as I headed straight for the academy again, eyes scanning the sidewalks, my mind running in loops.

And the more I kept digging, through rumours, casual conversations, little overheard details, the more a pattern started to form. Or maybe it was the absence of one that stood out most.

No one asked where I’d been. No one recalled the first few days and the drama that followed. Not even Rina, our teacher, seemed to hold much of an impression of me past the introduction I had given.

It was like I’d been wiped clean from everyone’s memories the moment I disappeared that day.

The cab came to a steady halt just outside the academy gates, the driver glancing at me through the rearview mirror. I handed over the fare without a word, the money crumpled slightly in my fist. The money meant for snacks or a decent lunch. Instead, it bought me another round of questions.

I stepped out into the crisp air, tugging the collar of my uniform straight as I made my way inside. The halls were quieter this early in the day, most classes already underway. My footsteps echoed faintly as I navigated familiar turns, and before long, I reached the classroom.

The moment I stepped in, I spotted Wryn. Same seat, same slouched posture like she didn’t give a damn, eyes angled toward the window. As I approached, her eye flicked toward me, just briefly, before she gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod, like a greeting.

I walked past the other students and slid into the spot beside her without much noise. Then she turned back toward the window, as if that moment of acknowledgment had already stretched her daily limit.

I took my seat behind her, letting my bag slide off my shoulder and onto the floor with a soft thump. Wryn wasn’t exactly talkative, but she’d stopped pushing me away.

Over the past few days, I had gotten the slightest bit closer to her. She wasn't exactly warm, but the bark in her tone had dulled a little. She let me walk with her sometimes, didn’t shove me away when I spoke.

She was opening up. I think? At least she wasn’t as guarded as before. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was being kept from me. Like there was a secret she kept buried under her silence.

Maybe Wryn was the key to all of it.

She was the only one who hadn’t been there when it happened. During the basketball incident, when everything had spiraled down, she hadn’t been present. Maybe, I was just following red herrings at this point, but I had to shoot my shot wherever I could.

My eyes drifted to her again as I thought of her, until I noticed something new. A thin, reddish gash traced along her forehead, just above her left brow. It wasn’t fresh, but it hadn’t scabbed properly either.

“Wryn,” I leaned in a bit, lowering my voice. “You’re bleeding.”

She turned her head toward me slowly, one eye barely open. “Where?”

“Your forehead. You're hurt,” I said, pointing subtly.

She blinked, then reached up, brushing her fingers across the wound like she hadn’t even noticed. Her expression soured instantly.

I let out a breath, fumbling through my bag. It’d practically become a fixture in my backpack by now. The one I'd been carrying ever since that first time. It always came in handy with her. “You gonna let me take a look?”

She groaned and threw her head back, exasperated. “It’s not a big deal. Just a scratch.”

“Then let me treat it. Doesn’t have to be a big deal, right?”

She turned her head, looking at me sideways, the usual sharpness in her eyes dulled with something else. Reluctance? Uncertainty?

“You’re really annoying,” she muttered, but I kept staring at her, imploringly. There was a pause. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she shifted in her seat, pushing her bangs up. “Fine.”

I stood from my chair and crouched beside her desk. She didn’t move, just let her eyes follow me silently. Her faint scent hit me as I leaned in. Close enough to hear the soft intake of her breath.

“Hold still,” I murmured. As I dabbed and treated the wound. Her lashes fluttered once as I kept at it and I could feel her eyes on me, not with suspicion, but something quieter, curious.

I looked up. Her face was turned to the window now, but the slight warmth in her cheeks didn’t escape me. She was pretending not to notice how close I was. And I was pretending not to notice as well.

When I first started hanging around Wryn, it was all about figuring things out, what happened, what was missing, what she knew.

She was the only loose thread that didn’t line up, and I pulled at it hoping the whole truth would unravel. But somewhere along the way, things shifted. I wasn’t sure when.

Maybe it was the third time she got scraped up and grumbled while I patched her up, or the way she’d sit beside me in silence without telling me to buzz off.

She reminded me of Nora, back in the past, how I used to take care of her during his sickness. A younger, rougher version of her, like someone who’d forgotten how to trust but still let me close. Before I knew it, the investigating had taken a backseat… and I just wanted to help her.

I peeled the backing off the small bandage and placed it over the cut. My fingers brushed against her skin, thankfully she didn’t pull away.

I sat back, not fully standing yet, just watching her. She hadn’t said thank you, and I didn’t expect her to, as usual. But her hand rose, slowly, touching the edge of the bandage like it meant something more than just a fix.

“It’s annoying... You make patching me up a habit,” she said finally, without looking at me.

That got her to glance at me again. This time, she didn’t look away. Her stare wasn’t cold or annoyed or unreadable. It was soft. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but whatever it was stayed stuck in her throat.

“…Thanks,” she muttered.

I blinked. It was the first time she'd said that.

“You’re welcome,” I said, probably a bit too fast.

She turned back in her seat, but her hand never left the bandage. And I sat down, feeling like I’d missed something important, but not in a bad way.

I caught a flicker of movement from the front row. My eyes trailed up just in time to meet Kael’s. She was staring at me. Her face was quiet for a moment, blank almost, but then I caught it.

Her brows were furrowed, lips drawn into a line like she was trying to hold something back. There was a faint crease in her expression, one I couldn’t quite place until it hit me.

She looked… conflicted. Then, after a beat too long, she turned her head. Only to steal another quick glance seconds later.

But it was there, weighing heavily behind her hesitant expression. Her shoulders sank as she lowered her head, like the weight of whatever it was had finally pressed her back down.

She looked like she wanted to speak.

But she didn’t.

~~~

Selina PoV:

Bang!

The mug hit the wall and shattered into a hundred sharp pieces, like brittle ceramic snow.

My chest heaved, ragged and uneven, each breath scraping its way out like I’d been drowning for hours. The room was a disaster, pillows flung across the floor, blankets twisted and kicked off the bed, drawers left hanging open with their contents spilling out like guts.

A half-broken lamp flickered beside me, throwing long, sickly shadows against the walls. Everything felt like too much and not enough all at once.

I scratched my head, fingers dragging harsh through my hair, trying to dig something out of me, anything, anything that would make this pressure in my chest go away.

My hand hit the edge of the cast around my wrist and I winced, hissing quietly. Bandages stretched tight over my ribs, binding in more than just wounds.

It was suffocating.

I stumbled back, collapsing onto the edge of my bed. My body ached, my skin aching with frustration. My fingers trembled. The good hand clenched tight, nails biting into my palm. I stared at it like it didn’t belong to me.

I didn’t even know who I was mad at anymore. Kael? Kelvin? Myself?

I dragged myself up, the soles of my feet crunching over scattered glass. A pitiful trail of destruction led me across the room to where the mirror had splintered across one corner. The crack split, dividing my reflection like a spider web.

I stared at it. At her.

My hair was a mess, tangled strands falling out of a loose ponytail that I hadn’t bothered to redo since morning. Makeup ran in black and gray streaks down my cheeks, dried tears etched into ruined mascara.

The bandages on my cheek pulled taut with every breath. My skin looked pale, sickly under the dim light. I looked awful. No, not awful. Ugly.

No one would ever say it, but I knew.

And yet… when I touched the bandage wrapped around my ribs, I didn’t feel like any of this was really mine.

I stared harder, trying to search the reflection for answers. For sense. I was told I’d fallen. Slipped down the stairs, a bad tumble during patrol or training or whatever excuse they fed me after the incident. But the more I tried to picture it, the tumble, the fear, the pain… there was… nothing.

“Nothing feels real anymore, ahaha…” I spat at the reflection.

My voice echoed back at me, sounding like a stranger’s. I stared at the girl in the mirror, her mascara-smudged face twitching like a puppet barely holding it together.

It was like someone had scooped my brain out of my skull, thrown it in a blender, and poured it back in, wrong. All wrong. I stumbled toward the bathroom, one hand gripping the wall as I collapsed in front of the toilet. The nausea hit in violent waves, like my body was rejecting something it couldn’t explain.

Every memory from that day blurred out like it’d been scrubbed clean. People said it was a fall. Just a fall. But I’d fallen before, I knew what that felt like. My fingers trembled just brushing over the bruises, phantom pain flaring behind my eyes.

I let out a sharp breath. Then another. And then the scream clawed its way up before I could stop it.

“WHY CAN’T I REMEMBER!?”

The sound ripped through my chest, raw and sharp, filling the room and then collapsing into silence. I gripped my skull, my nails digging into my scalp, tugging at the roots of my hair as if I could reach in and wring the truth out.

And then… it came again.

The edge.

The craving.

It hit like a switch, flipping in my gut, then spreading, sharp and sweet and wrong. My throat clenched. My tongue felt dry, mouth suddenly salivated like I’d been starved.

My eyes drifted half-lidded, my pulse speeding up as I clutched my bandaged ribs. That terrible, unshakable need started curling low in my stomach. It was like hunger, but one that wasn’t aimed at food.

Something deeper. Something that made my heart race and my skin feel too tight.

I needed it.

Needed who?

I need him.

I didn’t know when it started, or why the words even made sense, but they kept looping, gnawing, latching onto the hollow inside me like a leech.

I need him.

Over and over.

I need him. I need him. I NEED HIM.

My nails scraped across my bandaged thigh, dragging pressure just to feel something sharper than this gnawing inside me. But the craving only laughed in my face. A vicious ache curled tighter in my stomach with every breath, my body tensing like a coiled spring.

I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM.  I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM.  ̸I̶ ̷N̶E̵E̶D̶ ̵H̴I̶M̴.̵ I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM. I NEED HIM.  ̸I̶ ̷N̶E̵E̶D̶ ̵H̴I̶M̴.̵ ̴I̵ ̶N̴E̵E̸D̷ ̶H̵I̷M̶.̸ ̶ ̴̘̼̖͗I̸̧̼̟͂ ̵̛̮͔̯́́N̶̙̐͠E̶̡̽Ê̷͕̱̘Ḓ̴́̿͂ ̸̨̺͖̑̋̓H̴̗̓̊͆I̷̲̝̋̅M̴͍͔̗̀͠.̶̣͉̚ ̶̥̗̈́̓̅Ǐ̷̧͕̉ ̴̝̩̫́̋N̵̝̑Ẽ̶̡͚Ḙ̴̡͑́D̶̨̪̲͐͐ ̶̮̣̌́͑H̴̼̖̀̌I̷͇͆M̵̹̺̩̈́̔̌. I̷͓̻͈̦̹͓̓͝ ̸̫̩̥̳̒̔́̋̽͒̍Ṇ̷̩̭̟͓͕̀̏̐͝E̴̬͎͇͚͑̎́̿E̴̘̝͉͔̖̩̓̾͠D̸̨͍̗̻͖̳͈̂̈́́̽͘͝ ̷̰̟̐̍͠͠H̴̢͚͕́̒̑̚͠Į̶̠̝̰̪̜̙͑̌́̉͌̓͝Ḿ̶̘͕̟̪̫̓̃̈́.̵͉̦̰̆̉͑ ̶̙̍I̸̞̱̜̗͇͂̓̎͝ͅ ̴̥͉́͊́͝Ņ̵̦̳͖̥̝̈́͠ͅE̸̜̍͒̓͌̄̍̇È̴͕͘͝D̴̹͙͛̂̌͂̽̓͘ ̶̧͙̰̞͔͊̍̚H̶̹͛͌̉͠I̴̦̖̕M̴̛̦͎͖͖̽͐̕ͅ.̴̳̿̄͠ ̸̗̱̜̞̯̮̚I̵͓͔̗̲͚̰̖̿̏ ̷̧̪͒̆̐̇̌N̵̢̢̫͙̻̝͍͑̇͗̓̚͠E̵̝̝̙͐̈́E̷͈̲̭͓̘͍̊͋̊́̕Ḏ̷͇̪̉ ̷̻͆͗̀͗H̶̛̺̤̱̻͎̼͗̓̽̂̅I̶̛̳Ḿ̵͍̺̖͚̠.̶̮̖̗̞͂̎͂̈́̄ ̷͈͉͉̞̤̮̫̀̄̋̅̓̈́I̷͍̿̒̾̈́͂͘̕ ̶̛̟̜̹̲͕̪̜͋́̐́̚͠N̸̨̤̬̂͋͜͝Ȩ̵̘̝̥̥̖̏̒̔Ẹ̶̹̆Ḑ̵̲̟͆̌ ̶̼̥͖̖̼̹͒̊̆̏̒̀͜͠H̷̡̲͕̻̻̲̾́́̓̍I̵̡̦͔̤͐̕M̶̦͇̮̀͗̃̓͑̊̕.̴̡͉͖̮̖͙̉̓̀͘͠ ̸͎̮͕͖̩̩̮́̏̿̔Ī̵͈̯̞̬̟͓͋ ̷̡̤̑͐̇̀͛̾͆N̷̳͕͎͚͙̊̂̆̓̉͘͝Ë̴̘̫́͌̚̕E̸̢̨̼̦̬̰̪͌͑͂͠͝Ḋ̸̪̅ ̴̣̀̏͠Ḩ̵̛͙͉̽͊͗̓̂̕I̶̻͓̭͗̋̽̕͜M̵̢̞̈.̴̢̢̬̮͛

Needed him?

And then- a flicker hit me.

A blur of movement behind closed eyes. A shadow. A hand reaching for mine. Heat. Panic. The sound of a breath that wasn’t mine. A whisper I couldn’t make out.

A face I didn’t know. A boy.

Somehow… he felt familiar. Like a thread from a dream tugging at me right before waking. I couldn’t place him. Couldn’t even remember his name. But the moment his image slipped into my head, the clawing inside me, just for a second, dulled.

It quieted.

Just enough for me to breathe.