Page 195 of Because I Killed Him
“Edmund,” I say at last, and for the first time since I learned Charles was his cousin, I look him directly in the eye. “I… I can’t say that to you.”
He stills.
For a moment, the hurt is painfully visible, as if I’ve pulled him into a blade held in my own hand. Beneath it, confusion quickly takes hold, flickering like a sparking wire across his face as he tries to understand what any of this means if I don’t love him.
Then pride surges in and burns it all away.
His hands fall from my face, and he steps back, his expression folding in on itself like a door drawn shut too fast.
I hear myself begin to speak, apologies tumbling out in a chaotic rush. I hear the button click and feel the elevator lurch upward, but I see nothing through the black spots blurring my vision. The crushing weight of what Edmund has told me—of how I responded—pins me to the wall, blind until the ding sounds. The doors slide open, and Edmund is gone, raking a hand through his hair as he disappears onto the Blue level. He doesn’t look back.
I’m left with the fading scent of him, the ghost of his touch burning on my skin, and the unbearable sensation of a bloodied saber in my hand, the same one that killed Charles and the same one I’ve now driven straight through Edmund, too.
I make it to the Civilized World History exam, but even though I know every answer, I drift through the questions in a gray haze, pain eating holes in my concentration. The same fog follows me through the next two exams, one of which is gymnastics. Due to my injuries, I’m excused from the physical performance portion and allowed to take only the written test, just enough to pass.
By the time lunch break arrives, I feel too hollowed out to eat. I head to the lavatory, lock myself in a stall, and lean against the wall, one hand clutching my chest as I try to quiet the screams of agony tearing through my heart.
I never should’ve let things go this far. I should’ve told Edmund about Charles sooner. Now, when I do tell him, he won’t only have to carry the truth of what I’ve done, but also the fact that he told me he loved me while I was hiding the fact that I killed his cousin. I drop my head into my hands, so numb I can’t tell where my body ends and the lavatory wall begins.
I need to talk to Edmund.Today.As soon as I finish my final exam, I’ll tell him everything. But right now, I have to pull myself together. These exams determine my future, my only chance to rise to where I want to be. If I fail here, I fail everywhere.
When the bell rings, I gather myself and head to Political Theory & Governance. I’m still shaking as I take my seat in the lecture room, but as soon as the test begins, the knot in my chest dislodges. Then, gradually, it starts to loosen, like a fist unclenching by slow degrees. The noise in my mind subsides, piece by piece, and in its place, I find clarity. I dive into the questions as if returning to a language I forgot I could speak. My fingers move faster than my thoughts, and by the fourth question, I forget Charles for a fleeting moment.
Fencing might be my strength in motion, but politics is my strength in thought. The exam doesn’t feel like work. It feels like purpose. Right there, in the middle of the final question, I make a quiet deal with myself: if I win, if I somehow manage to take the top award in this course for the Greens, then that’s it. Political theory will be my major.
I finish early. When I glance up, I catch Professor Fleming watching me from his desk. He raises an eyebrow, the question clear on his face. I give him a small, discreet thumbs-up.
He smiles, soft yet proud, a smile that feels like a welcome.
After Political Theory & Governance, I take two more exams. Both are harder to focus on, with questions I don’t know the answers to, but I think I’ll pass. That makes six of seven exams finished, with only one left: Cloning Theory.
Charlotte and Jack, who are also in the class, are already waiting on the Blue level when I arrive at the lecture room. Rosamund is perched on the table between them, her legs swinging in a slow, taunting rhythm. She leans in close to Jack, her hair spilling forward as she whispers into his ear.
“No thanks, darling,” he says. “I’m off that stuff.”
Rosamund grunts, her face falling, but as soon as she sees me, her mouth snaps back into a smile that’s too broad and too bright. My eyes drop to the table, where her finger slowly circles across my tablet’s surface, and a sinking feeling stirs in my gut, even though I can’t explain why.
Charlotte waves when she sees me. “Miss Waldsten,” she says. “Do you still have the schematic for human replication sequencing? I wish to confirm the notes on neural retention rates before we begin.”
“Yes, of course.” I drop my bag and slide onto the couch beside her. My Bond is fully powered down rather than merely deactivated, so it takes longer than usual to boot up.
Behind us, Rosamund giggles at something Jack says. Charlotte doesn’t react. Her face remains still and unreadable, her gaze fixed straight ahead.
Rosamund laughs again, then cuts off. “Hey, Duke,” she calls.
I stiffen, my heart hammering as I turn. Edmund strides from the elevators, his gaze locked on Rosamund so firmly that I know it’s mostly to avoid mine. Why is he here? He should be at his Intro to Genetic Engineering exam.
“What’s the emergency?” he asks as he reaches her side.
“It’s on its way.” Rosamund pats the couch. “Now, sit.”
Edmund frowns, disbelief sharpening his face. “My final starts in fifteen minutes.”
“And mine starts in five.” Rosamund’s smile remains wide, yet her tone has teeth. “Sit, Duke. You’ll understand soon enough.”
There’s something off in the false ease of her voice and the way her eyes never leave mine. My fingers tap against my thigh, urging my Bond to boot up faster. The neural link activates with a flash of light across my vision. I open the alert panel, and my chest seizes when I see forty-seven missed calls from Dad and twenty-two unread texts.
I open the first text. Then the second. By the third, my lungs stop working.
