Patient B-2

Chapter Thirty: Avalyn

 It takes my brain a moment to process the sight of all the blood. Despite being familiar with the color red, seeing the insides of the man splattered against the wall makes me feel queasy. Aren, however, doesn't miss a beat. He runs to me, gripping my hand tightly and pulling me towards what must be the only way out. With no time to waste, we hurry towards the exit, desperate to escape before anyone else arrives.

 The loud footsteps grow closer, echoing down the broad hall as we race forward with desperate urgency. My heart pounds in my chest, and I struggle to keep up with the speed at which Aren is leading us. As a guard comes into view, Aren makes a split-second decision, veering off to the right and finding refuge behind a nearby door. With a quick shove, he pushes us both inside, and we find ourselves in a small room— a closet of some sort filled with cleaning supplies.

 We huddle together in the cramped space, our chests pressed tightly against each other as we hold our breaths. The confined quarters make me feel claustrophobic, and I struggle to suppress the rising panic. I tilt my head up to look at Aren, and my heart sinks at the sight of blood splattered across his face— the blood of a man who didn't need to die. Despite the grim reminder of our recent actions, Aren's eyes remain fixed on the door, his senses attuned to the approaching guards as they make their way down the hall.

 I struggle to focus, my mind consumed by the weight of what just transpired. All I can think about is how Aren didn't need to take that drastic action. He acted so quickly, so impulsively, and now an innocent man lies dead because of it. The man ached to escape, I'm certain of it now. He just struggled to see a way out besides death. I wanted to show him another way, to offer him hope and a chance at life.

 "Why would you do that?" I whisper, my voice weak and defeated. "He didn't need to die."

 Aren's eyes fall to mine, wide and filled with hurt as if my words have just struck him to the core. But the vulnerability in his expression quickly fades, replaced by something darker, something I've never seen from him before.

 His eyes narrow, and a scowl forms on his lips, transforming his features into a mask of anger and frustration. "I did it for you," he admits, his voice tinged with bitterness as he shakes his head in disbelief. It's as if he thinks my question is the most foolish thing I could have said at this moment.

 As I stare into Aren's eyes, a wave of realization washes over me. Perhaps I've misjudged him all along, projecting my own idealized image onto him just as he has done with me. In my eyes, he was the innocent, sweet boy who had endured a lifetime of pain and suffering, someone who just needed a guiding hand to help him along. And while there may be some truth to that, I've overlooked a crucial aspect of who he truly is. Deep down, we are all capable of darkness, of monstrous deeds. Despite his outward appearance of sweetness, there's a darkness lurking within him, one that I've failed to acknowledge until now. In this moment, I see the resemblance of Idalia like never before.

 "I did it for you," Aren repeats, his tone growing sterner with each word. "Why are you looking at me like that? I fought back. I took action. I helped. I wouldn't have done that if it weren't for you."

 "Why not? Why don't you ever fight back?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Why do I need to be the reason you finally do?"

 His eyebrows pinch together before his eyes soften once again. "Because it's you," he murmurs, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I'm weak. I never cared about anything until..."

 "Aren..." I interject, my voice tinged with concern as I shake my head, unable to shake the feeling that he's not being completely honest with me.

 As I observe him, a sense of unease washes over me. There was a disturbing lack of remorse when he pulled that trigger, as well as in his demeanor now, which leaves me unsettled. It's evident in the way he carries himself, in the coldness of his gaze, that he feels no guilt for his actions.