A Hero in the Dark: 2nd Edition

Chapter 83: May

I sleep breathlessly, waking up every two hours from a drafty void. It isn't until 2:43 a.m. that I'm screaming, and mom's shaking me awake. "Emi, you ok?" she asks, concern in her voice.

"I'm ok," I tell her, trying to recover my breathing.

"What happened?" All I can do is shake my head. I want to forget that she's here, of her hearing or seeing me in the depths of another nightmare, but it's no good. Mom puts a hand on my arm, but I can tell she's looking at the green scars. "Talk to me."

But I can't. I know I can't. She would never understand. "It was just a bad dream," I say, trying to wipe sleep and dread from my eyes. "I'm fine."

"Emi, I've never seen you like this," she says. "Please tell me what's going on."

"It was a stupid dream! Don't worry about it."

"Emi, if you won't talk to me, will you at least talk to someone else? Please?"

"Someone else?"

"Someone like your dad?"

"No!" I jump then. "No way! He'd never understand!"

Mom looks down. "And you think I can't either?"

What? She watches me pitifully, but I remain blank. "There are just some things I can't tell you... It's... it'd sound too absurd."

"It won't, Emi," she says, her hand falling to my knee. I doubt that.

"I can't tell you," I say again. "I'm sorry." I just can't put this on you.

For the longest time, she stares, mouth agape, eyes open and full of tears. "What about your friends at school? Would you tell them?"

My friends? Like Alex? I shake my head. "They don't know me anymore," I say, trying not to picture the judgment in their eyes the last time we spoke on the walk home. "They wouldn't understand either. Nobody gets what I can do here."

"That's not true, Emi. If somebody doesn't understand, sometimes you need to help them understand." She smooths a strand of messy hair behind my ear. "What's happened to you, Emi... is incredible—strange—but incredible. Most people won't understand how you can do what you do or even who you are." Trust me; I know. I know that better than anyone. "Promise me, Emi. Please promise me you'll give this neurologist a try."

That? Really?! "I'm not getting rid of my Legacies," I spit, trying not to yell. "You don't understand. They helped me. I'm not giving them up, even if there was a way."

"Emi, please," she persists. "I hate seeing you like this. I'm not asking you to give anything up if you don't want to, but please, just talk to someone."

Talk to someone? The only person I'd like to talk to is John. But I can't. He's the only one that gets me—the real me—but he's not here. He won't be here. I'll never see him again and that's all my fault. So... should I? Talk to someone? What would I say? What if they...

"Ok..." I murmur, seeing how much this means to her, though I don't know if it's the best idea. "I'll talk to someone, but not the neurologist."

***

Lunch at school is as atrocious as always, but I find an old friend. He calls after me before I leave to go outside: "Emily?!"

I jump at his sound. I know who he is without even turning around: one of my most trusted old friends, twin brother to my best friend. I've known him and his brother since grade one. "Jacob," I say, not diverting my gaze. "It—It's been a while."

"It has," he agrees. "You've changed."

"So have you..." He used to have short-cropped brown hair, but now it looks like he's grown it out into dusty curls. He might've even grown a few inches in height but it's hard to tell.

Carefully, he walks closer, regarding me fondly like he used to—like Jeffrey would've. "You look like you need a hug," he mutters, wrapping me up before I can say no.

It takes me a minute to hug back but even then, it's foreign. "How is it that after two years, you still understand me as well as before I left?"

He smiles when we come apart and his muscles relax. "Probably because we've known each other since the first grade," he answers. "Don't you remember?"

"I do," I say, smiling. "What've you been up to?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he says, checking his wristwatch. "Can we walk and catch up? If you don't have a class or anything, that is; I don't want to keep you..."

"I'm on lunch," I tell him, so we walk and talk.

I tell him I have art class soon and after we take a lap around the school's perimeter, we head inwards. He walks me to my locker to get my things and later to the art room, and the entire way, I talk about what happened while I've been away, the briefest of summaries; what I can do, what I've done, the people I've met. He doesn't say much; he just listens.

I talk about the Loric; less of the Mogs. I show him John, tell him I fell in love, tell him I can never see him again. He asks me why, and that's the only thing I don't tell him. "I just can't," I explain with a tight shrug. "Anyway, as if that's not enough, my dad booked me in with this neurologist in the hopes that he'll be able to reverse my Legacies. I don't know what he's going to do. He's probably going to examine me and try to take my powers away..."

"That sounds... awful," Jacob slurs. "Sounds like a lot to deal with. You coping alright?"

I shrug like I don't really care—I don't—and we stop outside the classroom. "What bothers me most is that it's someone I don't know, I guess."

"I get it," he says. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm not really sure. I wish I could see John. But I know he'd never want to see me. I mean, I could've gotten him killed. He hates me."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"It is true. There's no reason why it isn't." I pause, and for a while we merely stand together awkwardly, staring, swaying from foot to foot. "It's like my dad treats me like an alien now too, but still, I don't want to leave him. I already left them out of the blue and I feel awful for that. I know they mean the best for me, but... shit. I don't know what to do."

Jacob smiles pitifully; I hate that kind of smile. "Do what feels right to you." I don't know how I'm supposed to do that—whatever it is. "You'll figure it out. Eventually."