Falling

Chapter 16 part 2: Tapes

The last video cut in sharper than the rest. More recent. Maybe a few weeks before I ran. I was on the floor, curled into myself, skin marked with fresh wounds. He was laughing.

And then he pulled out a knife.

Not to kill me.

To carve.

The camera caught the moment he dragged the blade down my back, slowly etching a name into my skin.

A name.

Another.

Another.

There were five total. Five people. Five monsters who had hurt me, each one leaving a permanent signature.

Damian's hand tightened on my arm. "Aria..."

"I didn't want you to see," I croaked. "I didn't want you to know."

"You think this changes how we see you?" Jason growled. "It doesn't. It just makes me want to tear the world down for you."

"Aria," Dick said gently, crouching beside me. "Will you let us see them? The names?"

I hesitated. Every cell in my body screamed no.

But I nodded.

With shaking hands, I pulled off what was left of my ruined sweatshirt, revealing the tank top underneath. The room went quiet again—not just quiet, still—as they saw the scars for the first time.

There, carved into the skin of my back, my arms, were names. Some deep. Some faded with time. None of them forgotten.

"Reed," Tim whispered, reading the first.

"Martin," Jason said darkly.

"Conrad."

"Shay."

And the last... Damian didn't say it. He just stared at it.

His fingers trembled as they hovered over my shoulder.

"Who did this one?" he asked quietly.

I swallowed hard. "Him."

No one said anything for a long time.

Until Damian shifted, moving in front of me again. I expected him to look away. To leave. To be disgusted.

But instead, he sat back down on the floor and carefully pulled me into his lap. Like I was fragile. Like I was worth protecting.

And then he hugged me again—tighter this time.

I couldn't hold it back.

The sobs ripped out of me, worse than before. Every breath I took hurt. Every gasp shook my ribs.

And Damian just held me through it.

He didn't say I was strong. Didn't say I'd be okay. He just stayed. One hand pressed gently to my ribs, where the bruises were darkening. The other tangled in my hair as he tucked my head beneath his chin.

"I'm sorry," I choked. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"They were supposed to be secrets," I whispered. "They were mine."

"They still are," Damian said. "But you're not alone anymore."

Slowly, the others gathered around too. They didn't touch me—not without permission—but they sat close. Silent. Present.

I'd spent so long being invisible, it felt unbearable to be seen like this.

But I didn't want to hide anymore.