Capitulum XXVI

" R igel!" I called after him, running down the hall, hoping he hadn't walked through the door already.

I was relieved when I turned the corner and found him heading for the regular exit.

Hooking my fingers into the back of his sweater, I tugged him into the lounge. I kicked the door stand, and it screeched as it fought against the rust on its hinges.

"Is this guilt or gratitude?" he asked.

"I know what you're planning."

"Oh? You picked up on that, then?" He nodded over my shoulder.

I didn't even need to turn to know the door was there. It felt like an open window in winter, emanating cold.

"You're really considering it?" I asked, surprised to find my voice strained.

He leaned against the back of the old couch and crossed his arms. "Don't sound so dim. It doesn't suit you."

"You love being here — showing off, stress testing all the walls of my room, and all that shit. You're better at this school stuff than any of us. Quitting now would be a waste."

"That's all I am. These empty practices that I've used to kill time. They haven't really helped me. They haven't given me what I want."

"What do you want?"

He scoffed and pressed his hand to his face, obscuring it from view. I gave him a moment, but he seemed to wrestle with the words and lost.

"You just want to not be alone, right? Still?"

He chuckled coolly, head hanging. "When you say it like that, it sounds pathetic."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Rigel. It's very normal, probably the most regular thing about you."

"Yes, but normal people are good at it." He held up his history, tapping the cover. "You read how I died. Pathetic . Even in the end, I was willing to die for someone, but they wouldn't have done the same."

"I'm sorry to break this to you, but buying a couple guns wasn't the answer to that problem."

"You think I haven't figured that out?"

"You're acting like you've been selflessly loving all these people, and they haven't returned the favor, but you never loved them. You didn't love Diana, didn't love Lindy, don't love whats-her-face upstairs. You just wanted them to love you. That's not what love is."

"Enlighten me, then," he said, rolling his eyes. "What is it?"

"It's caring about someone more than yourself," he scoffed at my words. I added a defensive, "I'm being serious."

"I spent my entire life having to care about myself. That was my only option. I never had anyone to do it for me. Then, suddenly, I turn around, and I'm a bad person because that's all I know how to do?"

"No one's calling you a bad person, Rigel."

He shot me a look.

"No one in this room is calling you a bad person," I amended.

"At least I try." He set the book down on the back of the couch, staring at the cover like an answer to his problems might alchemize from the red leather. "It's more than I've ever gotten in return."

"You can't force someone to love you."

"That's such a shit answer," he growled weakly.

"What do you want from me? The person I loved when I was alive is the one who brutally murdered me."

"Yeah, maybe I should ask someone with more experience." His face curled into an expression I suspected was meant to be a smirk but looked more like a snarl. "Professor Faun, maybe?"

Annoyed, I stalked over to him, jamming a finger into his sternum. "Please stop wallowing under the pretense that you've been giving something you haven't received. You've been using people and expecting love in return. That's not their fault."

"Is this really your way of convincing me not to leave? Telling me I don't know how to love people and am selfish for wanting it in return?"

"And if you leave now, that will always have been the case. But you're a smart cookie. You can figure it out." He shook his head. So, I tipped his chin toward me, surprised that, despite his hard demeanor, his bones felt hollow and bird-like against my fingertips. "And if you give up now, that would be so boring. I'd be really disappointed. So, do yourself a favor and try not taking the easy way out for once."

With one final squeeze of his jaw, I turned, feeling an odd pressure building in my chest — like I was holding my breath, even though I wasn't.

"I'm sorry."

I glanced over my shoulder, finding his posture slack with exhaustion, like he'd just released a heavy burden. "For what?"

"Everything."

"Good," I said. "Thanks for the coordinates."

~

When I returned to my room, I closed the door, collapsed, and gripped my chest, finally acknowledging the stabbing sensation beneath my ribs.

I wasn't sure the source of the pain, but it burned like I'd had adrenaline injected straight into my heart.

I had been afraid, really, truly terrified, without even realizing it.

Once my head stopped spinning, I looked down beneath my knees, where a few pieces of mail sat waiting for me.

Catching my breath, I picked everything up and carried it to my desk to leaf through before bed.

Most were generic school memos, but two of the envelopes were unmarked.

When I opened Rigel's cardstock, I dropped it, surprised. Looking up at me from the paper was Betty. I had no clue how he'd done it, but he'd drawn her in near-perfect detail, sleeping in her bed.

Tears rolled against my cheeks before I registered they were falling. It wasn't sadness I was feeling per se, almost shock as if she'd walked into the room without warning.

Hand shaking, I brushed the curve of her cheek with my finger. He must have seen her up close. The drawing was too accurate for that not to be the case, which meant he'd visited Last Hope at least once.

That pain twinged again, hot and sharp, right between my ribs like a blade.

I tucked the drawing under books on my desk and returned my focus to the last card in the pile. It was smaller than the rest, and when I opened it, I found a delicate cemetery drawing. It was nothing crazy, but I recognized the shape of the mausoleum in the middle.

I flipped the card over, finding only midnight written on the other side in a familiar script.

My heart skipped again, but this time it didn't hurt. I was excited.

Professor Faun had never been so bold, and I couldn't help but ruminate about what the night might hold. It would be lovely to be together without feeling like we were stealing a sliver of the dead space between moments.

But then my eyes traveled to the coordinates on the desk before me. All the pieces had aligned to sneak into Last Hope. Especially now that I knew where he would be, removing the likelihood he would go out of his way to intercede. It probably wouldn't even occur to him I wouldn't take him up on the offer.

But could I really do it? Stand him up? He would hate me.

But then my eyes went to the corner of Betty's picture, peeking out from between books. I was afraid I would hate myself if I didn't go.