The journal feels heavier than it should.
It sits in my hands like it knows what it contains—like it's aware it's holding parts of me hostage. My fingers hover over the page I stopped at, the words burned into my brain.
Because you couldn't live with what you did to someone else.
"What did I do?" I whisper again, even though Elias already answered me with silence.
He watches me from across the room, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Not defensive. Not guilty. Just… waiting. Like this moment was inevitable.
"You don't have to read any more tonight," he says. "You're already overloaded."
That's the thing.
He always sounds reasonable.
"I'm not a child," I snap. "You don't get to pace my trauma."
A flicker of something sharp crosses his face—gone as quickly as it appears.
"You say that every time," he replies.
My stomach twists. "Every time?"
He doesn't answer.
I turn back to the journal, heart racing. My handwriting gets messier the deeper I go. Words slant. Ink smears, like I was crying when I wrote them.
I keep seeing it when I close my eyes.
Seeing what?
The sound won't stop. I think that's the worst part.
My breath comes shallow now. "Elias," I say, not looking at him. "You said I hurt someone else."
"Yes."
The word is quiet. Final.
"Who?" My voice cracks. "Who did I hurt?"
He doesn't answer immediately.
Instead, he walks past me, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. He kneels by the bed, pulling something out from underneath it.
A box.
Metal. Locked.
My pulse spikes. "What is that?"
"Something you told me to hide," he says.
He sets it on the bed between us.
I don't touch it.
"I don't remember telling you anything," I whisper.
"I know."
"You keep saying that like it makes it okay."
He looks at me then. Really looks at me.
"It doesn't," Elias says. "But it makes it necessary."
I laugh weakly, the sound broken. "You sound like a fucking villain."
His lips press together. "You used to say that too."
"Used to," I repeat. "Everything is used to with you."
Silence stretches.
I force myself to open the box.
Inside are photographs.
My hands start shaking immediately.
They're printed. Not old, but not recent either. Security camera stills. Blurry, timestamped.
A hallway. A stairwell. A door I don't recognize.
And me.
I'm in all of them.
"Why are there pictures of me?" I ask, dread pooling low in my stomach.
"Because you didn't trust your memory," Elias replies. "You wanted proof."
I pick one up.
In it, I'm crouched on the floor, hands smeared dark. My face is twisted in an expression I don't recognize—wild, frantic.
"What's on my hands?" I ask.
He hesitates.
"No," I say sharply. "Don't hesitate. Tell me."
"Blood," Elias answers.
The word knocks the air out of my lungs.
I drop the photo like it burned me.
"That's not—no," I shake my head. "That's not possible. I would remember something like that."
"You remember screaming," he says.
Images flicker again—red, white, pressure—but disappear.
"Who was hurt?" I whisper. "Tell me."
He doesn't move.
"Tell me!" I shout.
His voice stays calm. That's what terrifies me most.
"You," Elias says.
I freeze. "What?"
"You hurt yourself first," he continues. "Over and over. When that didn't work… you redirected."
"Redirected to who?" My heart pounds painfully.
He looks away.
"Elias," I beg. "Please."
"You don't want to know," he says.
"I already do," I reply. "That's the problem."
I grab another photo before he can stop me.
This one shows a hospital corridor.
Another person is in the frame.
My vision blurs.
A woman. Older than me. Her hair dark like mine.
"Who is that?" I whisper.
Elias's jaw tightens. "Put it down."
"Who is that?" I repeat.
"You're dissociating," he warns. "This is exactly why we locked this away."
The woman's face comes into focus.
Something in my chest cracks open.
"No," I breathe. "That's not—"
"She's alive," Elias says quickly. "Before you jump to conclusions."
Alive.
The word doesn't help.
"Why does she look afraid of me?" I ask.
He closes his eyes.
"That's your mother, Noa."
The world stops.
My knees give out and I collapse onto the edge of the bed, clutching the photo to my chest.
"My… mother?" My voice sounds distant. Hollow. "I don't have a mother."
"You do," Elias says. "You just asked me to make sure you forgot her."
Tears stream down my face now, unstoppable.
"I would never hurt her," I sob.
"You didn't mean to," he replies quietly.
"That doesn't make it better!"
"I know."
My hands shake violently. "Why would I erase my own mother from my memory?"
He steps closer. "Because she didn't want you to remember."
I look up at him, stunned. "What?"
"She begged me not to tell you," Elias continues. "She said if you remembered everything, you'd destroy yourself."
"That's a lie," I whisper.
He crouches in front of me, eyes level with mine.
"She signed the consent too," he says softly. "After she saw what it was doing to you."
I recoil. "You're lying."
"I wish I was."
My head feels like it's splitting open.
"Why would you help her?" I cry. "Why would you help any of this?"
His gaze darkens.
"Because you were already broken," Elias says. "And I loved you too much to watch you die."
I shake my head. "This is insane. This is insane."
"You tried to kill yourself the night before we erased it," he says.
The words slice through me.
"What?"
"You said you couldn't carry it anymore," Elias continues. "You said if I loved you, I'd make you forget—even if you hated me for it."
I stare at him, chest heaving.
"You chose to erase me," I whisper.
He nods. "Yes."
"You chose to let me wake up terrified of you."
"Yes."
"You chose to control what I know."
"Yes."
My hands curl into fists. "Then what didn't you tell me?"
His expression changes.
Subtle. Dangerous.
"There's one memory," Elias says slowly, "you didn't ask me to erase."
My blood runs cold.
"What memory?"
He looks at me with something like regret.
"The one where you realize," he says quietly, "that I didn't stop you in time."