Page 207 of Because I Killed Him
“Thisisn’tyou, Edmund,” I shout, hardly recognizing the face I’ve kissed so many times.
Is someone forcing him to do this? I don’t know. The only thing I can say for sure is that whoever this man is, he’s not the one I fell in love with, as if I watered a tree only to find it’s grown into a gallows.
“It wasn’t me then,” Edmund says quietly, “but it is me now.” He nods toward the vial of Bliss in my hand. “Will you take it?”
“No!” My voice rips out, ragged. I throw the Bliss vial to the ground and crush it under the heel of my shoe. “I won’t. Don’t pretend this is a choice. You know exactly what you’re doing. You know that once you force this, there’s no going back. We can’t be together. We can’t even be friends. Because I’llhateyou, Edmund. I’ll hate you until I die. You can break me—you already have—but you’llnevertouch my dad.”
Edmund takes it without flinching, rain streaming down his face, his hair plastered to his forehead. I know he sees how desperate I am, how wrecked, and still he stands there, driving the knife deeper.
“How will you protect your father?” he asks quietly. “Without a saber?”
My throat knots as I realize he knows about my weapons restriction. He must’ve spent the last few days digging up every secret I tried to hide. “What do you mean? Is that athreat?”
“Not from me. From my kind. Your father is brave, yes, but a man who walks alone will always lose.”
“He’s not alone,” I fire back, the words tearing from my heart. “I’mwith him.”
“Yes.” Edmund’s mouth tightens. “And you’re just as helpless.”
That does it. That’s the final, fatal cut.
I draw myself up, my chest heaving so hard my vision blurs. My hand dives into my pocket, fingers curling around the wire daffodil until it bites into my palm. I rip the flower out and throw it at him.
“I was wrong about you, Edmund! About everything. You’re aBlue. You do strike back, and you always will. You reallyarea beast.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, before I remember whose nightmare I’ve spoken aloud. Edmund recoils visibly, as if I tore open the scars with my bare teeth.
For a moment, he stands there, rain dripping from his suit, the sadnessinside him growing deathly still. Then, slowly, I see him remember the fencing room, his mother’s nails tearing his skin, the moment she told him he needed to become a beast. And now he knows I saw it all.
Edmund’s eyes turn dark, like a void, sealing shut right in front of me.
“Excuse me, miss.” His voice drifts, as if his mind is already somewhere else. “I’m late for my train.”
He turns and walks away, vanishing into the rain, so heavy now that I can’t see our colors anymore. But I know exactly what they are. He’s Blue. I’m Green. And I’ll never forget it again.
I stay rooted where Edmund left me, my teeth clacking like rocks in a jar as I struggle to grasp the finality of what’s happened: how cleanly he carved himself out of my life and left me here, gutted yet too stunned to cry. The heartbreak, confusion, and regret swirl into muddy puddles at my feet. But cutting through it all, raw and relentless, is something fiercer.
Rage.
When I lift my eyes, I see the root of Dad’s war, my ruin, and Edmund’s cage, this whole rotten lie we live inside: the Genetic Engineering Facility.
I crouch before I know I’ve decided. My wet hand closes around a stone by the sidewalk. I stagger back, plant my feet, and hurl it at the metal gates.
Then I scream, my voice splitting open under the storm. “Fuck you!”
A sharp grunt cuts through the rain, followed by a very human curse, echoing back like my own.
Oh no.
I lurch forward, splashing through puddles until I spot a man slouched on a bench inside the gate. His suit is a burst of orange against the gray downpour, unbuttoned at the collar, the fabric plastered to his broad frame. He’s older than most students—a sixth-year, maybe. His hair is slicked flat to his forehead, and a gaping cut blooms above one brow, bright orange blood mixing with the rain as it runs down his jawline.
I shoulder through the gate and skid to a stop a few feet in front of him, heart hammering.
“Sir, I apologize. I didnot—”
I freeze as I remember the formal introduction law.
The man squints at me through the rain, glances at the departing tram, then fixes his gaze on me.
