Chapter 4: Emotional Fallout
The room was quiet.
Only the gentle hum of the night wind brushing against the window filled the silence. The world outside slept, blanketed in shadows and calm. But inside Ethan's room, something far from peace stirred.
Ethan had fallen asleep hours ago, curled up on his side, the empty snack wrapper still clutched loosely in his hand. His breaths were slow, steady, soft—betraying nothing of the emotional storm raging beneath the surface.
But the Protector was awake.
He never truly slept. Not when Ethan was asleep. That was his time—his duty—to remain vigilant.
From the corner of the room, unseen and unheard by the world, the Protector watched from the darkness. Not physically, not in a way that anyone else would ever understand, but his presence lingered like the scent of smoke after a fire. Always there. Always waiting.
He didn't breathe. He didn't blink. He didn't feel tired.
But tonight, something inside him twisted. It wasn't pain. Not quite. Just... unease.
---
A few hours passed. The moon crawled higher into the sky.
Ethan stirred.
"...mmh," he groaned quietly, blinking into the pale moonlight that painted his ceiling. His eyes were heavy, but his mind was heavier.
"Welcome back," the Protector said calmly.
Ethan didn't respond immediately. He sat up, letting the empty snack wrapper fall to the floor. His gaze drifted to the dark corner of the room — the same spot where he always imagined the voice came from.
"You're still here," Ethan murmured.
"I always am."
A long pause.
Ethan swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. He sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands dangling.
"Do you think I'm broken?"
The question came so suddenly that even the Protector took a moment to respond.
"No," he answered simply.
"But I feel broken."
"That's different."
Ethan let out a dry laugh, hollow and weak. "You always say things like that. Like it makes sense."
"It does make sense. You're just not ready to believe it."
Another silence. This one felt heavier.
"I hate her," Ethan whispered. "And I hate that I don't. How messed up is that?"
The Protector didn't answer.
"She looks at me like I'm not even there sometimes," Ethan went on, his voice trembling. "Like I'm just something in the way. But then she smiles at me like everything's fine when she's sober. Like none of it happened."
"You don't deserve what she does to you."
"I know. But sometimes..." Ethan hesitated, his throat tightening. "Sometimes I think I do. That maybe if I was different—quieter—nicer—"
"Don't."
The voice sharpened. Not with anger, but authority.
Ethan flinched, heart racing. "You don't get it—"
"I do."
"No, you don't!" Ethan shouted, standing up. His voice cracked with the weight of his emotions. "You don't feel anything! You don't cry. You don't scream when she hits you. You just stand there like it's nothing!"
"I do what I have to do to keep you safe."
Ethan ran a hand through his messy hair, pacing the room. "You don't care! You just... exist. Like a shield. Like a wall! But I'm the one who has to live with this—feel this! And you just talk in that same calm voice like everything's fine!"
He stopped pacing, breathing hard. Tears brimmed in his eyes.
"I'm alone."
"No, you're not."
"Yes, I am."
The silence that followed was thick with unsaid words. Ethan wiped at his eyes, hands shaking.
The Protector, still unseen, still unshakable, answered with a voice barely above a whisper.
"You're not alone. You have me."
Ethan's lips trembled.
"That's not the same. You're just... me. I'm talking to myself."
"I'm more than that. I'm the part of you that survived what she did. The part that knew how to take the pain when you couldn't. I'm not here to feel. I'm here to protect."
Ethan collapsed back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling again. His voice was small.
"I don't want to need protecting. I just want... something real."
The Protector was silent.
For the first time, Ethan felt like the silence wasn't distant. It was thoughtful.
"I brought you your favorite snacks," the Protector said softly.
Ethan smiled a little. "Yeah. I noticed."
"I thought you'd like them."
"I did."
More quiet.
"You're not a monster," the Protector added suddenly.
Ethan blinked. "I didn't say I was."
"You were thinking it."
Ethan rolled over to his side, curling up slightly. "She says it. All the time."
"She's wrong."
Ethan closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "Thanks... for stepping in. Earlier."
"I always will."
"...Even if I hate you sometimes?"
"Yes."
A tiny laugh escaped Ethan, but it quickly turned into a choked sob. He didn't hold it back this time. He let the tears fall. He didn't hide them. Didn't apologize for them.
He cried for the first time in months.
And the Protector said nothing. He didn't interrupt. Didn't offer any solutions. He simply stayed, a silent guardian in Ethan's mind, unflinching.
Eventually, Ethan's breathing slowed. His muscles relaxed. His hands stopped trembling.
He drifted back into sleep.
And the Protector remained.
Unseen.
Unfelt.
But there.
Watching.
Guarding.
Protecting.