Chapter Text
Fang
I walked back to the waiting room, heart still racing. Anon was awake, and for a second, that was the only thing that mattered. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over. The relief in my gut warred with the tension gripping me as I turned the corner to find the others.
Something was off.
The moment I saw the security guards and the two humans standing by the entrance—my blood ran cold. An old man and woman, with faces twisted in disgust, talking to the guards while my friends—Reed, Trish, Stella, and Rosa—stood on the other side, frustration clear on their faces.
“What the fuck is going on?” I muttered, storming toward the scene.
As I got closer, the man’s eyes landed on me, cold and filled with disdain. I recognized him immediately from Anon’s stories. His father.
“You must be the 'girlfriend,’” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “I’m Anon’s father, and I don’t want any of you people near him.” The way he spat the word people—it made my scales crawl.
I wanted to rip into him, but Reed beat me to it. “You fucking serious right now?” Reed growled, his feathers bristling. “You don’t get to pull that shit after everything you put him through!”
Rosa, always the voice of reason, tried pleading with the guards, her voice shaking with frustration. “You don’t understand, he needs us. Please, just—”
“I said enough!” Anon’s father snapped, stepping toward us like we were a bunch of cockroaches. “I’m taking him back. I don’t need any of you freaks poisoning him any more than you already have.”
That was it.
“You son of a bitch!” I roared, stepping up, my wings flaring as my fists clenched. I wasn’t going to let him win. Not this time. He abandoned Anon. Left him to rot. And now he was acting like he had some right to—
Before I could get closer, a security guard grabbed my arm, pulling me back.
“Miss, you need to leave,” the guard said firmly, his grip tight. “Now.”
Trish spat toward the man, her voice venomous. “You’re just gonna fuck him up again like you always do!”
But the guards didn’t care. They were already pushing us out of the room, away from Anon. Away from the one person who actually needed us.
-Anon-
There’s nothing human left inside me. Nothing rational. Nothing that knows reason or restraint. All I know is the pulse of the blood rushing in my ears, the pounding of my heart as adrenaline floods my veins, and the searing rage that drowns every other thought. My father stands there, his sneer curling on his lips, daring to look at me like he still holds the power, like he hasn’t ruined me.
And then it happens.
The part of me that is still me snaps like a brittle thread.
Furnace, the raw, animalistic piece of me that I’ve kept buried deep, erupts from the pit of my soul, taking control. It’s not even a choice. My body is acting on instinct, pure and simple. This is survival. This is revenge. And there is no turning back.
A feral growl rips from my throat, so guttural and primal it barely sounds like it comes from me. But that sound... it’s the only warning before I lunge. I close the distance between us in less than a heartbeat, my vision tunneling until all I see is him—the man who abandoned me, who broke me, who made me this. The man who’s about to pay for every single thing he’s ever done.
My body slams into him, and the force sends him sprawling backward, his back crashing against the sterile hospital floor. The noise of his body hitting the ground—that sickening thud—sends a thrill through me, a rush of pleasure. I’m on him before he can even react, hands clawing at his throat, fingers digging into his flesh as I drive him down again. My weight pins him, but I don’t stop there. My fist flies, smashing into his face, and the impact reverberates up my arm, but I don’t care.
The first punch sends his head jerking to the side. Blood spills from his mouth, staining his lips, and for a split second, there’s this look of disbelief in his eyes, like he can’t comprehend what’s happening. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he’s still the man who ruled over me, who commanded respect through fear. But not now.
Not anymore.
I swing again, my knuckles colliding with his jaw, and this time there’s a sickening crunch. His mouth opens in a howl of pain, and I watch with satisfaction as teeth go flying, bouncing off the cold, sterile floor. Blood pours from his mouth, thick and dark, and it stains my hands as I grab his face, slamming it into the ground beneath us. Again and again, I pound him into the floor, feeling the skin of his forehead split open under my assault, feeling the bones crack beneath my hands.
His arms flail, trying to push me off, trying to block the hits, but he’s weak. Pathetic. His hands brush against my arms, but I rip away from him, feeling his nails scrape uselessly against my skin as I drive my fists down harder.
He tries to speak, tries to say something—some pitiful plea—but his words are garbled by the blood filling his mouth, his swollen lips unable to form the words. I can barely hear him anyway. All I hear is the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the rhythmic thud of my fists breaking him apart, piece by piece. My vision is red, hazy, filled with nothing but the primal need to destroy him.
Each hit is fueled by years of pent-up rage, years of abandonment, neglect, pain. Each strike is a release, a purging of every memory, every moment where I felt powerless, every second I spent living in the shadow of his cruelty.
He gasps, sputtering through the blood, and I can see the panic in his eyes now. That is the moment everything changes. His expression twists, morphing from that smug, arrogant sneer into something else—something I’ve never seen from him. His eyes widen, his pupils blown wide with fear. Fear. For the first time in my life, I see fear in my father’s eyes, and it makes something inside me snap.
I thrive on it.
I want more.
I grab him by the collar of his jacket, yanking him up so his face is inches from mine, his blood smearing across my skin, his breath ragged and shallow. His lips quiver, and I can feel his pulse racing, his chest heaving in terror. And I laugh—a sick, guttural laugh, because I know that for the first time, I hold all the power. He’s afraid of me.
“You’re not so fucking tough now, are you?” I snarl, my voice dripping with venom. The words barely make sense to me; I’m not thinking anymore. Just feeling. Just acting.
He tries to say something, to choke out a response, but I don’t let him. My fist crashes into his mouth again, silencing him. His head snaps back, and I hear the crack of bone—his nose, shattered under the force of my punch. Blood pours freely now, coating my hands, soaking into his clothes. His skin is a mess of bruises, swelling and cuts, his face nearly unrecognizable, and still, it’s not enough.
I slam him back down, his head bouncing off the hard floor, and I crawl on top of him, my hands around his throat. His body jerks beneath me as I squeeze, my thumbs digging into the soft flesh of his neck, cutting off his air. His eyes bulge, and his mouth opens in a silent scream as he claws at my hands, desperate for breath.
But I won’t stop.
I can’t stop.
The more he struggles, the more pleasure surges through me, and I lean in closer, watching as the life drains from his eyes. His face is turning red, then purple, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he tries to pull air into his lungs. His hands are weak now, barely pawing at me, his strength fading fast. And all I can think is how good it feels. How right it feels to finally be the one in control.
His body convulses beneath me, his legs kicking out as his body fights against the inevitable. But I hold him down, my grip tightening, my teeth bared in a snarl as I squeeze harder, feeling the life slipping away from him. His pulse is weak now, thready beneath my fingers, and I can feel the desperation in every movement, every twitch of his body as he fights to stay alive.
But I won’t let him.
He doesn’t deserve to live. Not after everything. Not after what he did to me.
His eyes lock onto mine, and there’s something there—something primal, something terrified—and for a brief moment, I see him for what he really is. A weak, broken man. A man who’s always been afraid. A man who’s spent his life hiding behind cruelty and violence because he’s too much of a coward to face his own demons.
And now, he’s facing me.
I press my thumbs deeper into his throat, cutting off his last breath, watching as his eyes roll back in his head, his body going limp beneath me. And I feel nothing but satisfaction.
But it’s not enough. Not yet.
With a snarl, I release his throat and bring my fists down again, this time on his chest, his ribs. I hear the crack of bones breaking under the force, but I don’t stop. I want to feel his body crumble beneath me. I want to break every last piece of him.
His chest rises and falls weakly, his body twitching, and part of me wants to go back, wants to finish what I started. But I’m being held back, restrained, and slowly, the haze of rage starts to lift, the adrenaline draining from my system, leaving me shaking and exhausted.
I collapse to my knees, my body trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The room spins around me, the edges of my vision darkening as the world comes crashing back in.
But all I can focus on is the sight of my father, lying broken and bleeding on the floor.
And for the first time, I feel something other than rage.
I feel... Euphoria.
My father’s bloodied, broken form lies in front of me, his chest barely rising, his face an unrecognizable mess of flesh and blood, and yet it’s still not enough. I want him dead.
Then, his body stirs, twitching as he tries to move through the wreckage of his own body. Something inside me snaps, hard and fast, and I snarl, twisting harder against the arms holding me. His bloodshot eyes flicker open, barely able to focus, and there’s that look again—fear.
His hand grasps the edge of the hospital bed, and with a strength I thought I’d beaten out of him, he hauls himself up. His knees wobble, but he’s standing—barely—but standing nonetheless. My father, the military man, beaten bloody by his own son, and yet, he won’t stay down.
“You piece of shit,” he growls through blood-soaked lips, his voice low and dangerous. His body sways, but there’s still that stubborn, hateful fire in his eyes. “I’ll show you… you little bastard…”
I freeze for a moment, shocked at his resilience. He wipes blood from his mouth, and his twisted, mangled face forms a snarl as he takes a staggering step toward me. "You think you're tough? You think you can take me down?" His voice, though slurred from the damage, is venomous.
He comes at me fast, his fist swinging wide, catching me off guard. The punch lands hard, and my head snaps to the side, pain exploding across my jaw. Before I can react, his other fist follows, slamming into my ribs. The impact drives the air from my lungs, and I stumble backward, gasping for breath.
The security guards are yelling now, rushing to stop him, but they’re too late. He grabs me by the shirt, yanking me forward, his fist smashing into my face again and again. Pain erupts with every hit, and I can feel my skin splitting under his blows, feel the blood streaming down my face. But I don’t care.
I welcome the pain.
“You little shit,” he spits, dragging me down to the floor, pinning me with his weight. “You think you can take me? You’re nothing. You’ve always been nothing.” His words are vicious, each one like a hammer to my skull, but they only fuel the fire inside me. My vision blurs, but I can still see the fury in his eyes, the desperation.
I start to laugh. A harsh, broken sound, choking through the blood pooling in my mouth. It’s insane, but I can’t stop. I laugh because I see it again. That flicker of fear in his eyes. He knows, deep down, he’s losing control.
I lash out wildly, managing to land a punch to his ribs, but he doesn’t relent. His fists pound into me, over and over, and the world spins with each hit. I feel my body giving in, feel the pain swallowing me whole, but even then, I don’t stop laughing.
My father’s fists slow, his strength waning as exhaustion takes over, and for a split second, I see his face contort in frustration. “I fucking made you! I brought you into this world!” he roars, his voice cracking. “And I’ll be the one to fucking take you back out of it!”
But I keep laughing.
He raises his fist, and for a split second, I brace myself. His military background—his relentless brutality—it all comes together as he swings down. The punch lands square against my ribs, and pain explodes through my chest, the wind knocked out of me in a brutal gasp.
“You fucking failure!” he spits, voice trembling with rage. His fists come down again, one after another, a brutal rhythm that smashes through my fading defenses. My vision goes white with every hit, stars dancing at the edges of my consciousness. I can hear my bones creaking under the pressure, feel my muscles scream in protest, but I can’t stop him. Not now.
“Anon!” It’s Ripley. I can hear his voice cutting through the chaos, but everything’s a blur. His steps thunder across the room as he rushes in, but my father doesn’t stop. He’s lost in it now—the same animalistic fury that consumed me earlier. He keeps coming, fist after fist, each one knocking me deeper into the darkness.
I taste blood, feel it pooling in my mouth as my father pulls back to land another blow, his chest heaving from the effort. The security guards are trying to push their way in, but he shoves them off like they’re nothing, his rage all-encompassing.
But then Ripley’s there—barreling into him like a battering ram.
“Get the fuck away from him!” Ripley shouts, his voice laced with authority and fury. He tackles my father, driving him backward, away from me. The impact sends them both crashing into the hospital bed, the frame rattling under their weight. My father snarls, his hands lashing out at Ripley in a wild, undisciplined frenzy.
“You’re done,” Ripley growls through gritted teeth, trying to wrestle my father to the ground. He’s trying to keep control, trying to be the officer in charge of the situation, but even I can see the barely restrained anger in his eyes. He’s one second away from losing it himself.
Security rushes in, finally managing to grab my father by the arms and haul him away, but not before he lands another hit on Ripley’s jaw. He stumbles, but he doesn’t fall. He stands tall, spitting blood onto the floor before grabbing my father by the collar, his knuckles white with fury.
“Enough!” Ripley roars, his voice booming across the room. “You want to throw punches? You want to act like a fucking savage? Not on my watch.”
I blink, trying to stay conscious, but it’s like my body is giving out on me. The world tilts, the edges of my vision darkening, and all I can make out is Ripley towering over my father, his fists clenched, ready to end this once and for all, but security finally gets a hold of him.
The last thing I see before everything goes black is my father’s face—twisted in anger, fear flickering behind his eyes as he’s dragged out of the room.
The last thing I hear as my consciousness fades, is Ripley shouting for a doctor, before hunching over me.
“It’s okay, Anon… You’re safe now.”
—
The first thing I noticed as I drifted back into consciousness was the sterile scent of the hospital room. The world around me was blurry at first, swimming in and out of focus, but as the fog in my mind cleared, I realized I wasn’t alone. Fang was there, curled up in a chair beside my bed, her head resting on her arms as she slept. The soft rise and fall of her breathing was steady, calming. Her feathers twitched slightly in her sleep, like she was dreaming. Seeing her there, after everything, made something tighten in my chest—gratitude, maybe, or guilt. I wasn’t sure which.
The soft glow of the early morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a faint, warm hue over the room. Everything felt muted, like the world outside was still waking up.
I blinked a few times, my body heavy and aching. As I turned my head slowly, I caught sight of Ripley standing by the door. His posture was stiff, alert, like he was on guard duty. It took me a moment to realize that’s exactly what he was doing. He was keeping watch.
Our eyes met, and he raised a hand slightly, signaling for me to stay quiet. He tilted his head toward Fang, still asleep, and I understood. He didn’t want to wake her.
I shifted a bit, trying to sit up, but pain shot through my ribs, making me wince. I sucked in a sharp breath and let my head fall back against the pillow. Ripley pushed himself off the doorframe and approached quietly, stopping a few feet from the bed.
“How you feeling?” he asked, his voice low, barely more than a whisper.
I felt like I’d been run over by a truck, but I wasn’t about to admit that. “I’m fine,” I muttered, keeping my answer short.
Ripley’s eyes flickered with something, but he didn’t push. He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable, before glancing toward Fang again. She stirred slightly in her sleep but didn’t wake.
“What’s happening with my dad?” I asked, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. The memory of his face, broken and bloody beneath my fists, flashed in my mind, and I felt that familiar flicker of guilt clawing at my insides.
Ripley sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s still being treated for his injuries. Once he’s stable enough, he’ll be taken into custody.”
I stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. Taken into custody? My heart pounded in my chest, but not from relief. It was worry now, creeping in, twisting in my gut.
“What’s going to happen to me?” I asked, my voice quieter now. I didn’t even want to know the answer, but I had to ask. I threw the first punch, after all.
Ripley’s eyes softened, and he took a step closer, his voice calm but firm. “Nothing. You were the victim here, Anon.”
Victim? I blinked, confused. “Victim?” I repeated, my mind trying to catch up with what he was saying. “What are you talking about? I’m the one who—”
Ripley cut me off, his voice steady, but there was something beneath it—something deliberate. “He hit you first. That’s the story… understand?”
His eyes locked onto mine, and I could see it then. The message he wasn’t saying out loud. He was protecting me. He was bending the law, to make sure I came out of this clean.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to protest, to tell him that wasn’t what happened, but the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. This wasn’t just about what had happened in that room. This was about survival. About making sure the world saw me as the victim, even if that wasn’t the full truth.
I swallowed hard, the weight of it settling in. Ripley wasn’t just bending the truth—he was handing me a way out. A lifeline. One that I wasn’t sure I deserved, but one I couldn’t refuse.
I nodded slowly, understanding. “Right,” I murmured. “He hit me first.”
Ripley’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “That’s the story. Stick to it.”
I let out a shaky breath, the tension easing from my body, but the unease still lingered. I wasn’t sure how to feel about this—about Ripley bending the truth to protect me. But right now, I was too tired to think about it. Too exhausted to fight against it.
For now, I’d take the out he was giving me.
Ripley gave me one last nod before turning his attention back to the door, his stance shifting slightly, as if he was still standing guard.
He gave me one last, long look, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between us. His hand lingered on my shoulder for a second longer before he stepped back. His gaze softened, though his body remained tense, like he was still on edge, ready for anything.
“I’ll leave you to get some rest,” he murmured, glancing briefly at Fang, still asleep in the chair. He took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck before he spoke again, quieter this time. “I’ll be back at 8 a.m. to pick her up. She’s been here all night, keeping watch over you. She needs to sleep, too.”
I looked over at Fang, her feathers ruffled slightly as she shifted in her sleep. The sight of her curled up beside me stirred something deep inside—something more than just gratitude. I wanted to reach out and touch her, to reassure her, to thank her for staying by my side, but my body was still too heavy with exhaustion and pain.
Ripley’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “I’ll make sure everything’s handled with your dad. Just focus on getting better.”
I nodded, still processing everything he’d told me. “Thanks,” I muttered, my voice low. It felt like such a small word for everything he was doing, everything he was protecting me from. But it was all I could manage right now.
He gave me a brief, knowing nod, his expression unreadable again. “Take care of yourself, Anon,” he said, his voice gruff but sincere. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and made his way to the door.
Just before he stepped out, Ripley paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Get well soon kid…” he added quietly, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it before. Then he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.
The room felt empty without him there, but quieter, calmer. The tension that had been suffocating me since I woke up seemed to ease just a little, though the heaviness of everything that had happened still weighed me down.
I let my head fall back against the pillow, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment as exhaustion washed over me again. The sound of Fang’s soft breathing was the only thing that kept me grounded, reminding me I wasn’t alone.
—
The morning light filtered into the room through the small window, soft and muted, painting everything in pale shades of dawn. I blinked against the haze, my body aching in places I didn’t even realize could hurt. The events of yesterday—no, last night—came rushing back in a fractured mess of violence, anger, and regret. It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet, I’m still trapped in it, still tangled in the consequences of my actions.
I shifted slightly, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on my chest. My head throbbed, and the soft beeping of the heart monitor felt like a cruel reminder that I was still here. Alive. Somehow, I had survived everything.
Then I saw her.
Fang was asleep in the chair next to my bed, curled up with her wings wrapped tightly around her, as if she was trying to protect herself from the world. Her face was relaxed, peaceful even, but I could see the exhaustion etched into the lines of her expression. Her feathers, usually vibrant and full of life, looked a little duller in the pale light of morning. She stayed. Of course she did. She always stays, even when I’m the one trying to push everyone away.
I don’t deserve her. Not after everything.
A wave of guilt hit me hard, crashing over me like a tidal wave, and I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. I almost lost her—lost everything—and yet, here she was, by my side like she always is. I hated how much I needed her right now, but I couldn’t deny it. I needed her more than anything, more than I could admit to myself.
My hand moved, almost unconsciously, reaching out to touch hers, fingers brushing against her clawed fingertips. The light touch caused her to stir, her amber eyes fluttering open as she lifted her head, blinking in the soft light. When her gaze locked onto mine, a soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You’re awake,” she whispered, her voice still thick with sleep.
I nodded, unable to find my voice. There was too much in my chest, too much unsaid between us, and I didn’t even know where to start. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a rough, “Yeah.”
Fang shifted in her chair, sitting up straighter. She didn’t let go of my hand. “How’re you feeling?”
It was a loaded question, and she knew it. But there was no way to put into words the mess I was feeling inside. My body ached, my heart hurt, and my mind was fractured between anger, guilt, and... something I couldn’t name. I shook my head, staring down at our intertwined fingers. “I don’t know,” I said softly. “I feel like... I should feel something else. I don’t know what.”
Fang watched me, her expression unreadable for a moment, before she stood and moved closer, gently sitting on the edge of the bed beside me. Her wing brushed against my arm, a soft warmth that felt like an anchor in the storm raging inside me. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she said quietly. “You’ve been through a lot, Anon. It’s okay not to know how you feel.”
Her words settled over me, and for the first time in hours—maybe days—I felt like I could breathe. I leaned back into the pillows, letting out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to handle this. Everything’s just... it’s too much.”
Fang didn’t say anything right away, but her grip tightened on my hand, a silent reassurance that she was here, that I wasn’t alone. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But you’re not alone in this, okay? I’m here.”
There was something so simple and grounding in her words, but at the same time, it made my chest ache even more. I glanced up at her, the raw emotion in my eyes too heavy to hide. “I don’t deserve you, Fang.”
Her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed with a fierce determination I knew all too well. “Don’t say that,” she said sharply, though there was a softness beneath her words. “You deserve more than you think. You deserve to be loved. To be cared for.”
I shook my head, my voice cracking. “I... I couldn’t control myself, and I...” My throat tightened as I remembered the way my father looked at me—the fear in his eyes as I tore into him. The satisfaction I felt. “I almost killed him, Fang. I don’t know how to come back from that.”
Fang’s expression softened, and she shifted closer, leaning in until her forehead rested gently against mine. Her feathers brushed against my cheek, soft and comforting. “Anon... We’ve all been through shit, but that doesn’t make you a monster. It just makes you human, besides, the asshole had it coming.”
Her words hit me hard, and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I tried to hold them back, but the weight of everything—the pain, the fear, the guilt—finally broke me. A sob escaped my throat, and I turned my head away, ashamed of the tears that fell, even though I knew I shouldn’t be.
But Fang didn’t let me pull away. She wrapped her arms around me, her wings cocooning me in their warmth, and held me close. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay to feel this, Anon. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”
I let the tears fall, my body shaking as I cried into her shoulder, the overwhelming weight of everything crashing down on me. But Fang held me through it, her touch gentle, her presence unwavering, and slowly, the storm inside me began to calm. I didn’t know how long we sat like that, wrapped in each other, but eventually, the sobs subsided, leaving only the quiet of the morning and the soft sound of our breathing.
When I finally pulled back, wiping at my face with the back of my hand, Fang smiled at me, that same gentle smile that had always been my anchor in the darkest of times. “We’re gonna get through this together, dweeb,” she said softly.
I nodded, my throat still too tight to speak, but I believed her. I didn’t know what was going to happen, didn’t know what the future held, but in this moment, with Fang by my side, I knew I wasn’t facing it alone.
After a long moment of silence, Fang’s warmth still wrapped around me, I pulled back slightly, breaking the embrace. My head was still swimming with everything that had happened, but there was something gnawing at the back of my mind—something I couldn’t ignore, no matter how much I wanted to stay lost in her comfort.
I took a shaky breath, my voice barely above a whisper. “Fang… I need to ask you something.”
She looked at me, her amber eyes soft but filled with concern. “What is it?”
I sat up a little straighter, my muscles protesting with every movement, and rubbed my aching head, trying to gather my thoughts. The memories of the auditorium, the faces staring at me in shock and disgust, the pictures, the video—everything came rushing back in vivid, awful clarity. My chest tightened, and the familiar grip of despair started to coil around my heart again, suffocating me.
“What happened?” I managed to croak out, my voice raw. “After I… passed out? I don’t remember anything after… the presentation.”
Fang’s expression shifted, her brow furrowing slightly as she leaned back, folding her wings around herself like a protective shield. She was quiet for a moment, clearly trying to choose her words carefully, and that only made the anxiety churn in my gut.
She sighed softly. “Anon, it was… bad. After you collapsed, everything went to hell. People were panicking, and the teachers tried to get everyone out of there, but…” She trailed off, her voice tinged with bitterness. “Everyone saw it. The pictures, the video—Bishop made sure of that.”
I winced at her words, the weight of it all pressing down on me again, suffocating. “Just… how? Who the fuck did it? The video, the pictures… it doesn’t make sense.”
She shook her head, her feathers bristling slightly. “I don’t know, Anon. I’ve been trying to figure it out too, but it had to be someone close. Someone who knew where you’d be, what you’d be doing.”
The pit in my stomach deepened as I thought about that awful, humiliating video, the pictures of me when I was at my lowest—vulnerable, broken, exposed to everyone. The thought of someone being involved, someone who hated me enough to work with Bishop to do that… it was too much to process. My hands started to shake, and I clenched them into fists to try and steady myself.
“Who?” I whispered, more to myself than to Fang. “Who the fuck would do that to me? I mean… Bishop, sure. He’s a psycho. But who else? Who hates me that much?”
Fang’s wings shifted, and she hesitated, clearly struggling with the question as much as I was. “I don’t know, Anon. I really don’t. But whoever it is, they went out of their way to hurt you, to make sure you were humiliated in front of everyone.”
I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all, but it was like trying to grab onto smoke. “I don’t understand. I mean… I’ve pissed people off before, sure, but this? This is another level. It’s like they wanted to fucking destroy me.”
My voice cracked at the end, and I felt the weight of everything crushing down on me again—the hopelessness, the fear, the shame. It was overwhelming, and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop wondering who would hate me enough to go along with Bishop’s twisted plan.
Fang reached out and placed a hand on my arm, her touch grounding me. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice gentle but firm. “We’ll figure it out. I promise. But right now… right now, you need to focus on getting through this. We’ll deal with Bishop and whoever helped him when the time comes… okay, dweeb?”
I nodded, but the weight of it all still pressed down on me, and I couldn’t stop the thoughts racing through my mind. Who would have done this? Who hated me enough to work with Bishop, to humiliate me in front of everyone?
I looked back at Fang, desperation and confusion swirling in my chest. “But… who do you think it could be? Who would do this?”
Just as Fang was about to answer, the door creaked open. My heart stuttered in my chest, tension immediately snapping back into place as Ripley, Samantha, and Naser stepped inside. They had brought food, bags in hand, but the moment they saw me, I could feel the unease radiating from them. The air in the room felt heavy, thick with the weight of everything unsaid between us.
But Naser... seeing him now, it was like looking at someone else entirely.
He stood just behind the others, clutching a bag of food, his shoulders slumped in a way I’d never seen before. His scales were dull, paled out like the life had been drained from him. His eyes, though they flickered toward me briefly, darted away just as quickly, and he wouldn’t look at me.
He couldn’t look at me.
I swallowed hard, trying to understand what I was seeing. My mind flashed back to the last time we were face to face—on the roof, fists flying, me out of control. The anger, the violence, the things I said. He deserved to be afraid of me, to hate me. I had beaten the crap out of him, screamed things I knew cut deep. But this... this wasn’t just fear or even resentment. There was something more in his eyes. Something worse.
I tried to breathe through the knot in my chest as I watched him. His movements were slow, lethargic, and as he walked further into the room, I saw his shoulders hunch even more. His face—no, his whole body—was wrapped in this heaviness, like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. His eyes, when they did flicker toward me, were filled with something familiar.
Guilt.
But why the fuck would Naser feel that way?
I didn’t get it. I was the one who had hurt him. I was the one who had gone too far, who had torn into him and ripped apart whatever was left between us. He should be angry, he should be furious, or scared—anything but guilty.
But that look... I knew that look.
It was the same one I had worn every single day back in Rock Bottom, when I was carrying the weight of everything. The same emptiness that stared back at me in the mirror after every bad decision, every time I felt trapped in a life I couldn’t escape. That void, the hollowed-out feeling of having done something you can’t take back, something that eats you alive.
My hands clenched into fists beneath the hospital blanket, the tension in my chest growing tighter. I watched him carefully, trying to make sense of the feeling building in my gut. He wouldn’t meet my eyes for more than a second, wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t even come near me like the others.
But it wasn’t just fear.
The more I watched him, the more that sick feeling grew, twisting in my stomach. There was something about his demeanor, about the way he was avoiding me, that set alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind.
I looked him up and down, really taking him in now. The way he stood, the way his eyes kept dropping to the floor, the way he seemed so... defeated. His scales looked paler somehow, his wing barely moving, and the expression on his face—it wasn’t just exhaustion. It wasn’t just fear of me.
It was guilt… Deep, gnawing, soul-crushing guilt.
My breath hitched. I couldn’t stop staring at him now, my mind racing, trying to piece together what I was seeing.
Why would he look like this? Why would he feel guilty after everything that had happened? It didn’t make sense.
Unless...
My pulse quickened as the realization hit me like a freight train.
No... No fucking way.
But the signs were there, all laid out in front of me like a grotesque puzzle I didn’t want to finish. The guilt in his eyes. The way he wouldn’t look at me. That hollowed-out, haunted look—the same one I had seen staring back at me from my own reflection when I was carrying the weight of everything I couldn’t take back.
Fang's hand on mine brought me back for just a second. “Anon?” Her voice was soft, filled with concern, but I couldn’t focus on her, couldn’t hear anything over the blood roaring in my ears.
I wanted to scream at Naser, to demand why, to make him admit it. I wanted to rip apart the silence hanging between us, shatter the lies, the betrayal, the anger, everything. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak.
I could only stare at him.
Then, as if he could feel the weight of my gaze, Naser finally looked up. Our eyes met, and in that single moment, everything I had feared was confirmed. His lips parted, like he wanted to say something—maybe an apology, maybe an excuse—but the words never came. His eyes, hollow and broken, told me everything.
He did it.
A cold, sickening wave of realization washed over me, and I felt like I was drowning. My throat tightened, my chest burning as I struggled to breathe, but I couldn’t stop staring at him. Every muscle in my body screamed for me to react, to lash out, to do something.
But I was frozen.
And then Naser’s face twisted, just for a second. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes flickered with something else—something darker, something resigned.
He knew I knew.
And the worst part? He didn’t deny it. He just... stood there, like he was ready for me to tear him apart.
I opened my mouth, the words clawing at my throat, desperate to escape.
But before I could say anything, before the truth could explode between us, Naser dropped the bag of food in his hands, and with a hollow, defeated look, he turned and walked out of the room.
And just like that, the ground beneath me crumbled completely.
My voice broke out in a hoarse whisper, barely audible but filled with the weight of the crushing realization.
“It was him...”
Fang looked at me, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Anon..?"
But I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t think.
Because I knew now. I knew who had helped Bishop. I knew who had ruined me, and it was the one person I would’ve never expected.
And as the door clicked shut behind him, leaving me to grapple with the truth, one thought screamed louder than the rest, echoing in the darkest corners of my mind.
How long had he been planning this, and why…?
But no answer came…
Nothing… but the deafening silence of betrayal.
