Inside My Head (Silent Moment Series: Book 6)

Chapter 28

 "You call this doing better?" Monty's voice was soft yet firm, and I reluctantly pulled away to face him. "Giving up isn't better," he added.

I tried to defend my actions. "That's not what I—" But I stopped mid-sentence, knowing that excuses wouldn't work with Monty. He always had a way of cutting through to the truth.

"I'm doing this for the others. They'll live," I insisted, trying to justify my decision.

Monty countered with a pointed reminder. "It's all for my people? I've heard that before, Kegan. It's just an excuse."

I responded with an argument I had wrestled with for so long. "You're the one who told me I'm not god. That I don't get to decide who lives or dies. Well...you got your wish. I'm not deciding for anyone else...just for me."

Monty sighed deeply. "I get it. It's been endless. Bearing it so we don't have to. Anyone would be tired...but are you really gonna leave her?" He pointed to the drawing of Madi I had made, a poignant reminder of those I'd be leaving behind.

"Or Raven?" he added, driving the point home.

"They're better off without me," I whispered, though my heart ached with doubt.

"I don't think that's true," Monty gently challenged.

I argued back, "My mom will take care of Madi. The others will help Raven. And Bellamy already made a deal that keeps them all safe."

Monty's response was a moral wake-up call. "This is about being the good guys. Yeah, that deal means our side gets to live, but at what cost? You're giving in to people who murder human beings to live forever."

"That's easy to say. But in the real world, we have to do what's best for our people," I countered, the weight of the decision crushing me.

"Doing the wrong thing is never what's best. The ends don't justify the means, you know that," Monty reminded me.

Tears began to well in my eyes. "What do you want from me, Monty?" I cried. "It's too late. Joseph already has the memory. As soon as he wakes up, he'll know how to get me out of my head...it's over."

Monty looked at me with a resolve that was both comforting and challenging. "We'll see about that," he said, extending his hand towards me, an offer of support and perhaps a way forward. In that moment, with Monty's hand outstretched, I realized that the battle might not be lost. His presence, whether a construct of my mind or something more, offered a glimmer of hope, a reminder that there might still be a way to fight back, to do the right thing, not just for myself, but for all those I cared about.

As I inhaled deeply, trying to steady my tumultuous emotions, a glimmer of metal caught my eye. It was Clarke's watch, securely fastened around my wrist – a symbol of time, endurance, and the bonds that had sustained me through my darkest hours. The sight of the watch was a tangible reminder of Clarke's legacy, her strength, and the resolve she had always embodied. The realization that came with seeing the watch was like a jolt of clarity. It was as if Clarke's spirit was with me, urging me on, reminding me that my fight was not over yet. The watch, a simple yet profound token, reignited a spark of hope and purpose within me. When I looked up again, the scenery had shifted dramatically. Monty and I were no longer in the previous setting; we were now standing outside of Joseph's door. The transition was disorienting yet felt purposeful, as if guided by an unseen force, moving me towards a crucial confrontation.

Monty, standing beside me, offered a nod of encouragement, a silent message of solidarity. His presence, whether a figment of my mind or something more, bolstered my courage. It was a reminder that I was not alone in this struggle, that the memories and lessons of those I had lost were still with me, guiding me. As we stood there, outside Joseph's door, I felt a surge of determination. This was more than just a physical barrier; it was the threshold to a decisive encounter, a chance to reclaim control, to confront the adversary who had challenged my very identity. I glanced down at Clarke's watch once more, drawing strength from its presence. Then, with a firm resolve, I reached for the door handle, ready to face whatever lay on the other side. Monty's silent support was a beacon of strength, a reminder that, even in the depths of my mind, I was not alone in this fight. The door before us was not just an entryway; it was a symbol of the challenges I had faced and the battles I had yet to fight. With one last deep breath, I pushed the door open, stepping into the unknown, prepared to confront Joseph and take back what was rightfully mine.