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Fight. Stop. Fight. Stop.

I fold again, smaller this time. The paper resists but it gives up after a moment. Everything gives up. Damien’s coming, he will be here soon. He will always be here.

The cliff, go to the cliff.

I try to slow it and it doesn’t respond properly.

The paper feels softer now. Or thinner. I don’t know which is correct. My hand shakes slightly when I hold it still.

Fight. Stop. Fight. Stop.

I need to cut the small piece here and the star would be perfect. "Come on, Reya, I’m waiting for you. We’ll make a wish together." I take the scissors and cut. Again. And again. Deeper. Longer lines. Don’t mess this up, Reya.

Chair. Paper. Hands.

I pause, looking down. Then I see it. Red. The star is stained with red. My grip loosens a little. Oh. I think I failed.

The scissor’s cut again, and I use the red to write on the star. My fingers try to do clear lines and my head thinks safe.

9 1 2 3 2 1

I stare at it longer than I should. I don’t remember writing it but it’s there so I must have. I press it flat again, another fold. Not sure how many there are supposed to be anymore.

I stop and start again because I forget where I am in it.

Blue eyes are in my mind. Memories. Kisses and promises. Damien is coming.

The world blurs again, but I hear footsteps. I think someone is running. The doors open, and Ethan appears. Am I hallucinating?

“Mireya–” he reaches for me. He’s real. He looks sad?

I can’t look at him. I hate him. I hate him so much. He knew. He knew from the beginning, he helped him. He’s my monster’s son.

“Wait you’re bleedin–”

“Don’t.” I shove him away hard, and he stumbles against the table.

Is this my voice? It doesn’t sound like me.

I push myself upright and my legs almost give out. But I force them to hold.

Ethan looks asleep on the ground, there’s blood on his head where he hit it against the table. But I can't care. He knew. He knew and I want to throw up again.

I don’t know where I’m going but I walk. One hand pressed against the wall when the world tilted, the paper star in the other.

I make it outside. The air is cold, and salted with the ocean. I stand there trying to convince my lungs that it’s real, that I’m still here, that it’s still worth the oxygen.

He can’t have control.

I close my eyes and I’m already walking to the cliff.

He can’t.

I look down at my hands, noticing trails of red along my skin, thin marks disappearing beneath my fingers. Where did they come from…

His game. His words. His control.

No. I keep walking. The ground slopes beneath my feet, the house disappears behind me and the ocean opens ahead. My body is begging me to stop. My mind agrees I think… But then I reach the edge and stop.