I don't trust the silence.
It sits in the room like a held breath, thick and watching, stretching between me and Elias as if it's waiting for something to break. My heartbeat is loud in my ears, uneven, betraying how close I am to losing control.
"You erased it," I say again, slower this time. Testing the words. "You erased parts of me."
Elias doesn't flinch.
That's the first thing that tells me I should be afraid.
He doesn't rush to deny it. Doesn't soften his tone or reach for me like a normal person would. He simply leans against the edge of the dresser, folding his arms as if this conversation was inevitable.
"Asking questions this early isn't good," he says calmly. "You're not ready."
My nails dig into my palms. "You don't get to decide that."
His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Something colder.
"I already did."
The words land heavy. Final.
I back away from him instinctively, until my spine bumps the dresser behind me. The mirror rattles slightly, and the sound makes me jump.
Elias notices everything.
His gaze flicks to my hands, my breathing, the way my shoulders tense like I'm preparing for a blow. His voice drops, soothing now, almost gentle.
"Hey," he murmurs. "You're spiraling."
"I'm not spiraling," I snap.
"You are," he says. "Your pulse is elevated. Your pupils are dilated. You're grounding yourself by pressing your nails into your skin."
I stare at him. "How do you know that?"
He doesn't answer immediately. He steps closer instead, invading my space in a way that makes my stomach twist.
"Because I've watched you do it before," he says quietly. "A lot."
A chill crawls down my spine.
"Why does it feel like you're… used to me like this?" I whisper.
His eyes darken. "Because I am."
I turn away from him abruptly, my reflection catching my eye again. The girl staring back at me looks fragile. Breakable. Like she's been broken before and glued back together poorly.
"You said I had an episode," I say. "Tell me exactly what happened."
Elias exhales slowly, like he's choosing his words carefully.
"You woke up screaming," he begins. "You didn't recognize me. You didn't recognize yourself. You kept saying you wanted it to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Remembering."
My throat tightens. "Remembering what?"
His jaw clenches. "Noa."
I hate how he says my name. Like it belongs to him.
"You tried to hurt yourself," he continues, voice steady. "Not because you wanted to die. Because you wanted silence."
My stomach churns violently. "That's not true."
"You slammed your head against the wall," he says. "You begged me to make it go quiet again."
The room tilts.
"I would never—"
"You did," Elias cuts in. Not raising his voice. That's worse. "You begged me. You said the memories were eating you alive."
Images flicker at the edge of my mind—red, white, pain—but disappear before I can grasp them. My head throbs harder, like something is fighting to surface.
I clutch my temples. "Stop."
Elias's hand is on my wrist instantly. Firm. Warm. Unyielding.
"Breathe," he orders softly. "In. Out."
I hate how easily my body obeys him.
"There you go," he murmurs when my breathing evens out slightly. "Good girl."
The words make something recoil inside me.
"Don't call me that," I say hoarsely.
He releases my wrist but doesn't step back. "You used to like it."
A shiver runs through me. "I don't remember that."
"I know."
Something snaps in me then.
"You keep saying that like it makes everything okay!" I shout. "Like erasing my memories is some kind of favor!"
Elias's expression finally changes.
Not anger.
Disappointment.
"You promised you wouldn't talk like this," he says quietly.
My chest tightens. "I promised what?"
He looks at me for a long moment. Too long.
Then he turns away.
"There's a journal," he says, walking toward the door. "You wrote it after we decided."
"Decided what?" I demand.
"That this was necessary."
He opens the door, pauses. "If you want answers, start there."
The door closes behind him with a soft click that feels like a lock.
I stand frozen for several seconds before I realize I'm shaking.
A journal.
I scan the room desperately until I see it—tucked into the bottom drawer of the nightstand. My hands tremble as I pull it out.
It's thick. Well-used. The cover is worn, edges bent.
My handwriting stares back at me.
If I wake up scared, don't let me read this alone.
My breath catches.
I flip the page.
Elias, if you're reading this instead of me, it means I panicked again. Please don't hate me.
Tears blur my vision.
I keep reading.
I know what I asked you to do is wrong. I know people would call it cruel. But I can't live with what I remember.
My hands start shaking harder.
You said you loved me. This is how you prove it.
A cold dread settles in my gut.
I flip faster now.
Fragments. Confessions. Apologies to a man who sounds nothing like a stranger.
Then I reach a page that makes my heart stop.
If I wake up and I'm afraid of you, please understand—
The door opens.
I gasp and spin around.
Elias stands there, watching me read.
"Don't," I whisper. "Don't say anything."
He walks toward me slowly.
"You were terrified of me before," he says. "After."
"After what?" My voice breaks.
He stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel his breath.
"After you remembered what you did," Elias says softly.
My chest feels like it's caving in.
"What did I do?" I whisper.
His eyes lock onto mine, dark and unflinching.
"You didn't ask me to erase the memories because of me, Noa," he says.
My heart pounds painfully.
"You asked me," he continues, voice low, devastatingly calm, "because you couldn't live with what you did to someone else."