Scarlett & Ethan

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POV. -------

"You're angry," he says. For a second, I don't recognize the voice. I'd ventured too deep into my daze. It was hard enough to hear him over the rush in my ears and the headache that had started.

I needed to keep my cover. Hajya could be mad—why not? Had it been me, I'd be angry too. I got saved, I'm out of a hole, and then what? My mind doesn't free me. I second-guess myself.  

Of course I'm angry.  

"Why? Who?" And now he suddenly cares—why? 

"And you care? Since when?" I snap.  

He's taken aback. His face crumples, brows furrow, lips pulled into a grim line. He looks pained. 

"I'm sorry," he says.  

I turn to face him fully. "Are you Kieran? Because I don't see it." I let tears spring to my eyes. "I don't feel it. Did I escape a cage only to trade it for another?"  

Something in my words makes him flinch.  

"I should have kept tabs on you," he says, his voice tight. "It pains me that I could have stopped what happened to you."  

He reaches out to touch me but hesitates, pulling back. 

"You're angry at me," he says. "It's understandable." He glances toward the door, as if contemplating leaving.  

"And there you are, leaving again," I say, lacing my words with anger. He's sorry—blah, fucking, blah—and then what? He's just going to ignore me again.  

 I turn and hurl the glass against the wall. I watch as it shatters, fragments descending into tiny pieces. There's little satisfaction in it. What I really want is revenge. I want to cause pain.  

I'm about to pick up a shard of glass when he wrestles me away.  

I put on the freaked-out act. The lines between Hajya and Scarlet have blurred too much. Damage control will be needed, but my rational thoughts are drowned out by my anger.  

Kieran starts whispering something in my ear, over and over, like a loop. Maybe another language? Is he trying to comfort me?  

"What was that?" I ask, still not looking at him. My anger lingers but isn't leading me anymore.  

"You don't remember?" he says, and the question makes me furious. Sure, I don't remember. Sure, Hajya wouldn't—she has amnesia. But why does everyone have to keep throwing it in my face?  

I set my lips in a grim line and turn, throwing the comforter off its foot.  

This time, when he reaches for me, I dodge him and grab a broken shard of glass.  

"I don't need everyone to keep throwing it in my face. I don't—I don't remember!"  

My fist tightens around the glass, cutting into my skin. The sight of blood calms me a little. The alternative would be cutting Kieran and I can't.  

The fact that I can't makes me even angrier. They get to take Orion from me, but I can't cut a little skin? spill a little blood? How is that fair?  

The pain distracts me for a moment, but really, I'm just a bomb about to explode. I need an outlet.  

Kieran looks panicked. His breathing is shallow, and his eyes are glued to my bleeding hand.  

"I don't understand emotions, you know this! Spell it out for me?" he says, frustrated.  

He doesn't understand emotions? And I know this? Right...  

"You're wrong. I don't know this! I can't remember, You know this!!" I snap.  

He rakes his fingers through his hair. "Well I don't, Hajya. I don't understand emotions. You have to spell them out for me. What? And why? Please?"  

I loosen my grip on the shard of glass.  

"I'm angry, Kieran," I say finally. "I'm angry that I'm finally out and about, but my mind..." I lift my hand to my head, forgetting about the glass.  

I Like to think I wouldn't have hurt myself even without kieran. He leaps forward, grabbing the shard from me. His grip is harder than it needs to be. The glass cuts deeper into his hand, blood pouring heavily from the wound.  

He doesn't seem to care. He doesn't even acknowledge his own injury as he focuses on calming me.  

Had I not been shocked by my own audacity, I might have felt satisfaction at his pain. Had I not been so shocked, I might have felt disgust at his touch on my face.  

Instead, I do what Hajya would do.  

I stare at his hand, terrified. "Your hand," I say, my voice uncertain. Even though the sight of his blood calms down my anger. 

He moves his hand behind him. "Don't look at it," he says. "Look at me. You're fine."  

I nod but ask, "Are you?"  

His eyes soften. "I deserve it."  

I frown. He deserves worse, but for now, it will do.  

He reaches out, smoothing the frown from my face with his finger. "You've gotten feisty," he says so matter-of-factly that I'm taken aback. He sounded so affectionate, almost like a normal brother would. Only it was just an almost. He is still one of the reasons Orion isn't here with me, And I'm still not Hajya.

Then his next words make it seem like it never happened. "Don't ever try hurting yourself again," he says, back to sounding lifeless.  

Emotionless as ever, he moves into the bathroom and returns with a first-aid kit.  

You'd think he'd treat his own hand first, but no. He kneels to wrap mine instead.  

"Hurt me instead," he says, his tone flat, without affection, even though the words suggest otherwise. "I'll accept anything from you, whatever makes you feel better."  

He finishes wrapping my hand, then stands. "You can't stay here until it's cleaned. Stay in my room. And when your hand gets better, we'll talk about this."