Always/Never

Chapter 10 / The Library, for Debating and Research

The sun's glare shot through the glass of the library entrance, where for a moment, I could see myself. In the shadow on the pavement, and in the reflections of the windowpanes.

Lately, I'd been feeling like my own shadow. Shadows trailed me everywhere I walked, attaching to the soles of my feet, warping under the shade of trees, and disappearing in the light's flame. I didn't have a shadow in a mirror reflection. And I was the shadow. I was the one that didn't truly exist, except in space-time, except in anti-existence. I was floating through campus, not completely ghost-like, yet not completely connected to who I used to be.

I wasn't anything without Rory, the person to whom I was the succession, the end result. I didn't know if she truly needed me. But I needed her.

I needed her to survive, to live, to be.

What an existential verb tense: to be. To become. To constitute. To amount to.

I opened the door, taking the stairs this time. It struck me that wanting to be was an almost selfish notion if I already was. My existence used to be a given, but now that it wasn't, all I wanted was not to cease being.

I'd become someone. And I meant something. I didn't want to become someone else, or was it the other way around? I don't want someone else to become me.

The stairs made a spiral. Every step resounded through me. It echoed off the walls, filtering downward, upward. Each one seemed to get louder until I reached the door, and the silence overtook me again.

My back ached like something living. I'd had enough painkillers today already, and the oral suspension children's Advil was attempting to pull the extra weight. Every day differed, and today would end with me collapsed on my bed, wedged between two pillows.

Until then, I trailed into the main floor. I had a better idea of what I needed this time and snaked my way to the technology section. Between coding guides and endless course textbooks, there was a blank slit where Opal Technology: The Making of a Startup Genius should have been.

I spun around, confusion laden within my chest. I wasn't above pirating a PDF copy, but seriously? Who else on this campus cared about Tanner?

Near the window, Accha sat with a stack of books spanning the length of the table she'd claimed.

I grumbled. How did she...

His identity wasn't public. She shouldn't have been able to figure it out. But the book stared at me from across the gulf between us. The one in her hands was The Handler's Manual.

Crossing the rows, I swung around the step stools and rested my hand on the labelled section.

Accha hung one leg on the chair across from her, while the other made a v on the baseboard. Her hand rested on her chin, and her shoulders draped so far forward it was like she'd gotten absorbed into the book. I didn't know how it was possible that she could look like she belonged, no matter where she was. She claimed her place, and for long moments, she didn't move—as if fixed in time.

When her gaze rose to meet mine, I wasn't sure what her deep brown eyes reflected, but it sent the wires of my heart jumbling. Her lips formed a wide, sort of conspiratorial smile. "Did you know that, according to The Handler's Manual, part B, section three, a handler possessing any class of ability cannot, in any capacity, dispatch themselves to handle a dispute?"

"They can't be their own handler, yeah," I said. "That one's pretty standard."

She set the book on the table. "Don't tell me you have this thing memorized."