Patient A-3

Chapter 34: Forget The Plan

Cierien

 I sink into the plush embrace of the couch, listening to the sound of Avalyn starting the shower above us. To my right, Wrath sits with his head in a book, his usual refuge. I try to keep my attention on the movie that plays before me, but my thoughts continually drift back to the conversation I shared with Wrath.

 The love I feel for Avalyn deepens with each passing day, and our connection grows more profound. Yet, an insidious worry eats away at me— the impending revelation, the truth that threatens to ruin everything I've built with her. The fear of causing her pain when she discovers the reality tugs at my consciousness. My suggestion to Wrath has deterred him from making any rash decisions, but it's clear that it's not working, and with time running out, I'm scared of what's to come.

 I need to find a way to change Wrath's mind. His frustration is palpable, manifesting in fleeting bursts of anger directed at Avalyn. Hearing Avalyn bear the brunt of his ire was painful, especially over something so seemingly trivial. Though I know it wasn't, she didn't. Nevertheless, she accepted all the anger he threw at her. And, while she certainly doesn't deserve the weight of his anger, she did her best to fix it. She wants it to work so badly. Despite the complexity of the situation, I find myself empathizing with Wrath's emotions, intimately familiar with the storm raging within him.

 The torment of slowly witnessing Wrath's growing distance and the pain it's causing Avalyn has reached its limits; he simply cannot hurt her anymore. Yet, if the moment arrived demanding a choice between them, I'm not sure I'd be able to, and that realization petrifies me.

 Wrath stands as my closest companion, my best friend— my only friend, but Avalyn might just be my one true love. She could be Wrath's too, if he wasn't so set in his ways.

 When I'm positive Avalyn has entered the shower, I turn my attention to Wrath, breaking the silence, "We need to talk about it."

 He doesn't look away from the book cradled in his hands, an insouciant air about him as he leisurely stretches out his legs, resting them in my lap. "Talk about what?" he replies casually.

 "The conversation we had...when we went to feed," I air quote my last word, emphasizing the weight behind it, and playfully slapping at his feet when I'm met with his nonchalant silence.

 A frustrated grunt escapes him, punctuating his annoyance as he dismissively tosses the book onto the table before redirecting his focus to me. His eyes briefly dart towards the foyer, as if ensuring Avalyn is out of earshot. Satisfied that she's beyond reach, he finally opens up.

 "We know what needs to be done," he admits. "I gave your theory a chance, and listened to your perspective, but it's glaringly clear that it's not working. She needs to be drained."

 A heavy weight settles on my chest and my heart constricts in response to his words. I know he cares, but the ease with which he suggests such a drastic course, like ending Avalyn's life, is jarring. Desperate to shift the conversation away from the perilous path he contemplates, I interject, "This is getting too dangerous."

 He scoffs dismissively, prompting me to press on, "If the Adairs weren't the only clinic still operational today, they'll know what we did. We're not safe here. Avalyn isn't safe here."

 As I meet Wrath's gaze, it's as if he's looking through me, a detachment settling in. Fear tightens its grip on me— I worry that he's on the precipice of losing whatever shreds of humanity still clings to him if he doesn't stop this.

 "I think we should—" I begin.

 "We're not telling her," he declares, a firmness in his tone that leaves little room for negotiation.