D E L P H I N I U M

I was exhausted. Thoroughly exhausted both mentally and physically. I hadn't been able to sleep ever since I'd awoken in the ONNT cell before the questioning. Last night consisted of me staring at the wall in the brightly illuminated cell for hours on end. I hardly noticed time had passed until the others had broken inside.

The first thing I did when I got into the room was go into the bathroom. I needed to shower, needed to scrub every inch of my body. But I feared I'd never be clean enough.

But the old feeling of overwhelming panic returned the second I left my back exposed to the rest of the room. So I smashed a small mirror in the bathroom with my fist and picked the sharpest piece of glass. A makeshift dagger to protect myself with. I would carry it with me wherever I went until I gained access to some real weapons. And when I did, I'd take as many as I could.

It became apparent to me that I couldn't stay in the bathroom for long enough without falling into a full-blown panic. It was too white, too small. Going back into the bedroom, I closed the front door until only a crack remained. Good for a quick escape, but not closed off from the others. Plus, I didn't want them to see me in this state.

Despite the room being on the second story, I made sure the window was locked. If someone tried to break in, I'd have time to get away.

Though the sun had only just set, I curled up on the chair and stared at the window. I told myself I wouldn't, but almost immediately, I was asleep. Unconsciousness would perhaps be the only escape from the living hell inside my head.

For a while, I dreamt of nothing. My mind was blank from my sheer exhaustion. As time went on, I slept lightly, waking every fifteen minutes to be sure I was still safe. And every time, I woke breathless and cold to find that I was alone in the room and everything was as I'd left it. Still, I felt unsafe. Like someone might be watching.

Then, I began to fall into a deeper sleep, though I'd fought against it. My body practically forced itself to shut down and rest when my mind wouldn't allow it. My head slumped against the back of the chair and I knew nothing more.

Images swam in my murky mind—things I couldn't quite see. All I knew that they terrified me. My breathing was hard and irregular. This wasn't normal. What was wrong with me?

Orion. The Tribunal. Benton. Soldiers, hundreds of thousands of them. I was surrounded by them all in that place. Underground. The walls seemed to press in on me as I backed away from them. They watched me with cold, soulless eyes, as if they could see straight to my mind and knew I wasn't one of them.

But I was. That was the worst part. Whatever they saw inside me was enough to assuage their suspicion. I was one of them. Probably one of the worst.

I watched myself murder innocents. I watched the life bleed from them until their souls were held in the palm of my hand. And then I crushed them. My own soul was stained blacker than the night.

Blood. Bone. Last shuddering breaths. Hands reaching out, grabbing my ankles, making me stumble. A mind filled with thoughts that weren't my own—inside a body that wasn't my own. A parasite leeching away all that I was.

The room was closing in. I wasn't sure if I was awake or still asleep when I stumbled to the bathroom, hand over my mouth. Again, the meager contents of my stomach emptied into the toilet bowl. My body rid itself of the waste and I wished I could somehow purge myself of the darkness that had made a home inside me.

When I thought of myself in the dream and how I'd watched myself become that monster, I retched again. Soon, I had nothing more to expel and I leaned back, eyes closed. It was times like this that I wondered if not living would be better than this horrible in-between area I was in.

I took one shuddering breath. Than another. Anything to get rid of that horrible strangling sensation in my throat, the feeling that my throat was closing in on itself with fear. The frightening pace of the thundering in my ears was the only reminder I still had a heart.

Simultaneously feeling too heavy and too light, I stood and went to the bedroom again. The shard of glass was still lying on the floor where I'd dropped it in my haste to get to the toilet in time. The blunt edge between my fingers was cold. Almost like the metal of my knives. Even holding it sent a shiver down my spine, but I didn't let go. The only weapon I had. Well, other than myself.

I caught a glance of myself in the mirror above the vanity. Took a few steps closer. Stared into the iceberg-blue eyes and wished I could be on the other side. I supposed I was a reflection, in a way. Gone was the confident, bold girl I'd learned to be. She'd known how to conquer her fear and make it her friend. She'd known what to do and say. She wasn't stuck in this horrible middle ground that I was.

But I wasn't that girl anymore. I'd come back but I wasn't myself.

Or maybe this person was truly myself and the girl I wished I was had been only that. A wish. The hope of a girl too broken to do anything but dream.

In the mirror, I looked the same as her. The same strange hair, the same shocking eyes, the same pouting mouth. And I was beautiful, maybe even breathtaking at first sight. I saw it in the way people passing looked twice at me to make sure I was real.

But that was only the outside. It was a lie; the most poisonous things were often beautiful too. If I wore what was inside me like a second skin, I'd be the ugliest, most disgusting creature to walk the earth. And that was what mattered.

As I looked into the mirror at the thing that I'd become, I never hated myself more.

My eyes dropped to the glass clutched in my hand. So sharp. One touch of the end and my finger would be pricked and bleeding.

I held it against my throat, wanting to feel what my victims felt. At first, I felt a horrible nothingness. If I wanted, sliding it across my skin would be easy. My pain, my guilt, the emptiness could all be gone in one fluid motion. I knew how to do it—I knew how better than anyone. Perhaps the victims' throats I'd cut had all led up to this—me cutting my own in the end.

Then, everything hit me all at once. I didn't even know I was crying until I looked back into the mirror and saw the tears tracing down my cheeks. These past two days, I hadn't let myself cry. And now that it was happening, I wondered if it would ever stop.

This was what I was now. The person I'd been before—the girl who'd fought bravely against her captors—was nothing but a dream. The darkness inside me was reality. One slide of the glass would take that darkness away. It would be ridding the earth of a plague. If I did, perhaps that would be my one last good deed.

I flinched when I was suddenly aware of a presence at my door. "Well this is interesting." It was Jake. No pity, no concern in his voice. I was glad for it; I knew I didn't deserve any.

I closed my eyes against the voice of the person I least wanted to see me in this state. "You shouldn't be here."

"The others suspected this might happen."

I wiped the sliding tears with the back of my hand and looked to him leaning in the doorway. "Just go." It was a difficulty to keep my voice even.

"You, of all people, should know I don't take kindly to people giving me orders."

I turned away. Every time I looked at him, I was reminded of the cruel words I'd uttered to him on the battlefield. And he accepted them as if he'd expected it.

The battlefield. I'd stabbed Jaxon and Finn and attacked Kane with my knives as he held me down. Riley's memory was gone because I'd hurt her so badly. The vacant look in her eyes was a twist of the knife. I didn't know why they even tried to save me.

It was then that I broke down completely, hunched over the vanity. Face in my hands, I let the sobs rack through my body. I cried because I'd hurt my only friends in the world. I cried because I didn't want this. Any of this. If I could take back what I'd done, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I would have given up my own life for it.

This was me at the deepest part of my being. Too broken to make a difference in the world. Too broken to even change myself. I'd tried, I'd really tried to be better and look what happened. It was like I was being punished for everything I did.

But deep down, I knew I deserved it. I'd done this to myself. No one could fight me on that; I hadn't been strong enough to protect myself from everyone else. And now we were all suffering for it. The ghosts of my countless victims were pressing down on me and I couldn't take it anymore.

This was my fault. My hands were wet with tears and still I cried. I was one of them. Taking lives without thinking. No respect for the value of life. I no longer shared their leader's mind, but I was just as bad as him. Maybe even worse. He'd never pretended to be anything but the monster he was. I, on the other hand, had sworn to destroy him and ended up serving him in the end, betraying everything I ever believed in.

Something sitting on the vanity shattered under the loss of control over my power. I didn't look to see what it was.

I tried to calm myself and for a fearful second, I thought I might not be able to. But eventually, the tears stopped. I doubted I had enough to shed anymore.

When I looked back to the doorway, I saw Jake watching me, looking like he was wondering when I'd be done. I'd expected him to leave. I thought he'd be long gone. But he'd seen it all.

"I thought you didn't care," I said, barely a whisper.

"I don't."

"Then why are you still here?"

He said nothing and I nearly sobbed again. "You don't even know what I did. Horrible things. And I didn't even care. I did them gladly for him." A pause. "So why are you still here with me?"

Jake was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't say anything. Then, "I don't know."

"I would have killed you that day." An image of his broken, bleeding body with vacant eyes was sent through my mind and I wondered if I might break again.

He gave a scoff. "You couldn't kill me."

"I wanted to. I was given the order to kill you all." I swallowed. "You all could have been dead and I would have liked it."

"How unfortunate that you didn't succeed."

"You don't understand." It was almost a whisper. "I could have killed you. I meant what I said that night in the forest. I couldn't watch them take you away before me. But to think they would force me to do it..."

He was silent, just kept staring at me. I wished he'd look away. Or just walk away altogether. But deep down, I knew if he left me, I'd pick up the shard of glass again.

"I'm a monster," I said, dragging hands through my hair. "If I wasn't before, I am now."

Still, all he did was stand and watch me with that cold quiet. Taking it all in as I broke. Listening.

"Say something," I rasped. "Please." I couldn't take the silence anymore; it screamed in my ears. And it would give me time for my thoughts to roam.

"Tell me what you saw there, what you did. All of it."

My heart skittered. That was the last thing I wanted to do—relive all the things I desperately hoped to forget. I'd already done it to the ONNT people and had hated every second of it.

But Jake wasn't the ONNT. Whether I liked it or not, he probably knew me better than anyone. And though I desperately wanted to keep this to myself, I knew I couldn't hold this inside my mind anymore. Last time, I'd bottled it all up inside myself and had spent a year broken and full of misery. To do it again would destroy me. It already was.

Something in me made me begin talking. And the more I said, the easier it became to go on. It was no easier to say or relive, but I knew he didn't care; there would be no judgement cast on me. I spilled out every dark deed, everything I said and did that I wished I could take back. Maybe then he'd understand why I wanted him to stay away. Why out of all our enemies who wanted me dead, I wanted it the most.

When I was finally finished, I wiped my tears away and watched Jake's reaction. His eyes were on me, so watchful, so observant. Him looking at me like that made me feel even more vulnerable than the fact that I was telling him all of this.

This was a mistake. Why had I told him? I'd gone against my better instincts and told him everything. Now, he'd see why I hated myself enough to hold a blade to my throat. Now, he'd know.

He finally spoke in a low voice. "You're not a monster." There was still no comfort in his voice; it was just a statement. "I've seen enough evil to recognize it on sight. The real bad people are the ones who want to be monstrous. Hell, that makes me one of them. But you're not. I doubt you'll ever be."

I didn't know what to say; that hadn't been what I was expecting. But at least it made me think, even for a second, that maybe I wasn't as evil as my old master.

Then the familiar dark feelings set back in. Paranoia. Guilt. Fear. I wished I could feel something else. I could feel myself closing back up. Nothing had changed.

And yet I didn't touch the shard of glass again.