Awake | Wattys Winner!

TWELVE: belief

"It's not like that," I said, my voice cracking with impending tears. I gulped heavily. "Please remember."

"I do."

"No, remember really." My eyelids were heavy as I raised my gaze to meet his. His eyes locked with my own, framed with worry for my sanity. But I needed him to know I wasn't crazy. I needed him to believe. "I want you to remember, Isaac. I want you to remember all of what he did."

It didn't happen immediately. But cracks began to splinter his composure, his frown turning from worried to outright confused.

It was working.

"Remember, Isaac."

Maybe it was playing before his eyes, like a horrific cinematic experience produced by his memory, like what had happened to me the moment I'd stepped into Conrad's presence. That would be plausible, with the terrified look that had overcome his face.

If he knew, it could help keep him safe.

Something about the power I'd conjured to break through Conrad's compulsion gave me a feeling of accomplishment. My stooped shoulders were raised in suspense, and my nails dug into the wood of the table.

"Do you remember now?"

Isaac looked at me, his mouth opened in a grimace and his eyes watery. "What - what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," I said. "You remember now. Now you know. You can help me, we can do this. I'm not alone-"

"Aspen." He took a rattled breath, his expression contorting as if he were crying, but no tears spilled from his eyes. "What did you do?"

I pursed my lips together and rose from my seat, the legs of the chair scraping against the hardwood floor of his flat. I rounded the table and clasped his shoulders, pushing further until I was hugging him from behind, my chin resting on his knitted jumper.

"I'm sorry."

But it was for the greater good.

"I can't... he's doing this every lesson?"

"I don't know," I murmured, the feeling of his hair tickling my cheek spreading an unfamiliar warmth across my skin. "But you can't go again. None of us can. I want to - I want to stop him."

"How can you..." his voice trailed off, and then he turned to face me, his lips inches from mine. "You're like him."

The words weren't hopeful, or full of awe or admiration. They were terrified. Disgusted.

I let go of him and stepped back. "I - I don't know." My voice was weak with tears. And then words started flooding. "I don't know. I don't want to be - or know how, but he does. He called me his ally. I don't know why, I don't know how to stop it or really how to do what he does it's just-"

"Stop," he said, and then he was rubbing his temples again. "Stop. Just - just let me process."

I pressed my lips shut to stop a sob rattling out. Instead of the feeling of freedom I was hoping for in transferring the burden to someone else, I was feeling more afraid than ever. It was a delicate balance, sharing my knowledge with him

I hardly knew him after all.

"This is fucked up."

"I know," I said quickly, but he held up a hand to stop me.

"I don't understand what the fuck is going on," he said, "Or what's even real. But I know if I were in your situation I'd be even more terrified right now."

A wash of relief zipped through my veins. He didn't hate me. He related to me.

"If what you've told me - what you... what's in my head is true, then I'm here for you completely."