He doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything. My heart throbs in my throat like it’s trying to come up.
“You can write it down if you can’t talk,” I say. “Or, or you can tell me that he’s telling the truth. I don’t think he’s telling me the truth, but if he is, you can tell me that too. Because if he is, I feel like we should talk about that instead? Just, whatever it is, give me a yes or no, I don’t care how, and I’ll leave you alone. I swear.”
What if Cormac is right? If Cormac is right—
“Benji?” Nick says. His jaw barely moves. He’s trying really, really hard to get the words out. “I won’t talk about this.”
Nick read the letter. He knows what I am. He knows what I was. He knew the girl I used to be, the twentieth host of the virus, the Angels’ monster. He knew that long before he ever met me.
Oh God, what if that’s all he sees?
Now I’m fighting to get words out too. “Fine. Then I’ll stand right here until you will.”
A long, heavy breath shakes in his chest. He puts down the bead, and that’s what gives his fingers free rein to curl into something painful, knuckles turning white.
I almost feel bad. Almost.
Finally, he manages, “I know what you’re thinking.” This isn’t him standing in front of the Watch. This is him crumbling in front of the Vanguard. This is him weak. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not like that—”
“Like hell it isn’t.” I step forward, and a flicker of fear passes behind his eyes, the first time I’ve seen it since the Grace forced him down at the shelter. I relish it. Good. I tear down my mask and bare my teeth so he can see the jagged tooth sticking out of my gums. “So you did? And you’re too much of a coward to admit it?”
It’s like flipping a switch. Nick roars, “Get the fuck out of my room!”
I stumble. For half a second, that’s it, but it’s long enough. Enough to remember how Theo screamed at me before he hurt me, the way I cowered, the way I begged him to stop. I was so weak then. Helpless.
But I’m not helpless now. The virus burns so hot it turns the edge of my vision white. Angel robes, the white horse, one of the most dangerous parts of the flame.
Nick was supposed to get it. Out of everyone, he’s supposed to be the one who understands I’m not what the Angels made me. He’s supposed to be the one that gets it. And here he is, using a pronoun like it. It. Like I’m not even an animal, just an object, a hunk of flesh, a vessel for something else. The same things the Angels thought I was.
I hate that I can’t cry. I want to sob, I want to do something, anything, to get this pressure out of my head, this awful thing building behind my eyes, I hate it so much, and if I can’t tear Nick to pieces, I need to get it out.
“No, you listen to me.” My voice comes out in a terrible, pained rasp. “Listen to me. My name is Benjamin Woodside. I’m gay and trans as hell, I am a boy, my pronouns are he/him, and I am a goddamn person.” That is everything the Angels never let me have. Everything I am. “I joined the Watch because I thought you understood that. If I knew you were going to be like my fucking mom, I never would have stayed. I thought you were better than them!”
It feels like I’ve pulled out a thorn, yanked a spear out of my ribs, and now there’s an open wound I don’t know what to do with, just the relief that it’s out.
Nick’s eyes widen. His pupils are so dark, they’ve devoured every part of his eyes. The whites gleam in terror. Good. I hope he’s scared. I hope it hurts him as much as I hurt right now, as much as it hurts for Seraph to burn across my cheeks and sink its fangs into my jaw. I hope—
I hope…
Pap.