PAINT IT RED (MikhAiah)

31: Poetic Justice

"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here." —William Shakespeare (The Tempest)
***

MALOI

Earlier...

They say children see the magic in everything. The eyes peering up at me as I sit down beside her tell a different story. At such a young age, she's seen some of the worst of the world's depravity. There's no magic in that. Only evil.

Karylle seems to have jaded eyes as well, but I'm too emotional to think practically right now.

This man kept doing things because I let them convince me it was all in my head. The therapist. Him. My mother...

Because of me, this child is hurting right now. Because of me, so many other children are dead. So many other children suffered what I went through.

Because I was weak. So weak I let them manipulate me.

It's a guilt I can't bear, and I'm barely able to breathe as I force myself to sit by her. To distract myself from my own misgivings, I focus on the fact she knew Aiah. There's no doubt in my mind that the child who hasn't waved at another soul waved at Aiah because she knew her.

"You know Aiah?" I ask her.

Her eyes widen, and Karylle clears her throat. "No. We don't."

It's an obvious lie, but I refrain from calling her out on it. She's fidgeting, uncomfortable since the mention of Aiah. Jhoanna has already bailed to go tell the others, so I don't have long to get answers.

Kathryn frowns, glancing over at Karylle.

"This man that hurt you...he hurt me too," I say, establishing a rapport with her, giving her something to bond with me about. It's hard to detach myself...to not be emotional. But I manage it, because I've had years of training.

Kathryn reaches over, tugging on my sleeve, and I lean down to let her whisper into my ear. I feel her cup her hands around her mouth, as though she's ensuring none of her words escape the tunnel from her lips to my ear.

"My angel made sure he'll never hurt us again," she says, and a sickly coldness washes over me. "My angel saved me. She'll always watch over me. She is right now."

I lean up, letting her words process as Jeremy barges in. I'm not even sure what's being said when I finally leave. Mikha follows me out, caring too much.

Words fly from my mouth before I can stop them, and I'm sobbing, taking in the weight of my responsibility in all this.

I could have prevented anyone else from getting hurt.

The words spill from my lips like vomit, pouring out everything I've had trapped in me since the day I ran away. I'm not even sure what we're saying to each other; it's all a blur.

My mind is on auto-pilot, ruled by guilt and self-loathing.

She doesn't stop me when I finally walk away, but my feet hesitate in front of the breakroom. Aiah is casually propped up, watching TV as though she's the most relaxed person on the face of the earth.

She looks over at me, her body attuned to someone's attention being trained on her. That's not an innocent person's response.

She watches me, a small smirk on her lips, as though she's daring me to say something here and now.

My angel made sure he'll never hurt us again. My angel saved me. She'll always watch over me. She is right now.

Kathryn's words slap me, and I slowly piece things together that don't really fit. She. Kathryn said she.