Brighter Than the Stars

Nicole - Past Mistakes

I pulled my pink quilt–a gift from Mrs. Dayal–over my head, wrapping it around my entire body, so that only my head poked out. I moved out the door like a pink slug, my blanket trailing behind me, and slipped into Leo's room. I came to a stop at Leo's chair and curled myself into a ball at his side. He shifted slightly, moving one arm to wrap it around me and kissing my forehead, and rebalanced his book on his lap. I rested my head on his shoulder and stared blankly at the diagrams that covered the page, the words marching across the page in an order I didn't bother to try and put together.

"Hey, you," he murmured. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Just thinking. I don't know." Except a plan was already forming in my head–one he wouldn't like at all. But how was I supposed to sit by and watch while a bunch of people potentially died from some freaky virus my insane father had come up with? By association, that would be my fault.

He put the book to the side and tilted his head down to look at me. "What's wrong? The picture? I seriously doubt anyone will recognize you who doesn't know it–it's way too blurry for that–but I can talk to Madeline and...I don't know. Something." He tucked a stray strand of hair that had come out of my blanket cocoon back out of my face. "We might be able to get some of the copies back–or at least ones that haven't been delivered, if there are any."

"Leo. It's not that. I mean, I don't like the picture, but there's nothing I can really do about it. And you don't need to try, either. This isn't anything. I'm just thinking." He raised an eyebrow. "Seriously. I'm not going to be, like, jumping off any buildings or suddenly sobbing hysterically because I'm losing my mind and see ghosts or something and they're telling me that we're all going to die tomorrow."

"That was...oddly specific."

"Whatever. The point is, I'm not seeing pessimistic ghosts and I'm–supposedly–in my right mind." Even though it felt like I was going crazy, half the time. I mean, Annabelle had screamed (James had found some sort of bug outside, and dropped it down the back of her shirt) and I'd crouched into a ball on the floor so fast, shaking and hyperventilating, that it seemed more like I was actively being threatened. That seemed pretty crazy.

"I know you're not crazy. I also know when you're trying to keep something from me–because I've known you for about four years, dated you for almost two, and I think I'm generally pretty aware when you're trying to keep something from me. And that's fine–unless it's something that's going to hurt you. And the way you're acting right now...what's wrong, Nicole?"

"I'm not going to get hurt."

"Define 'hurt.' Because I think we have pretty different ideas of it."

Technically, my definition was that if I could crawl away–or, scratch that, even be carried out and wake up after, then I was fine. But I kept my mouth shut. I had a feeling Leo wouldn't exactly agree with that definition. I bit the end of my pinkie finger. Regardless of whether or not I died (or got hurt–by Leo's definition or mine), this was necessary. It was thousands of people or me, and I didn't really see much of a competition between the two.

"It's just an idea," I said. "I don't even know if I'll go through with it. It could save a lot of people, though. Maybe. And if it's me or a ton of other–far more innocent–people, then is that really even a question?" I looked up at him and my stomach twisted with guilt. If I had to choose between saving Leo or saving thousands of others, I would choose him. Which was selfish. But that was Leo. And I was me. That was also a difference.

"Nicole. Don't make me start debating the ethics of that. The point is, you matter a lot to me and I don't want to see you get hurt. You seem bent on getting yourself hurt, but if I can prevent that...I'd like to. What's this 'plan' of yours?"