What. . . What was going on? For a moment, Kuchel doubted whether she was awake or not— these days, her nightmares had grown overly vivid, and reality had started to feel less and less real. That laughter of his could not be a creation of her mind— she had never seen him laugh, hadn’t seen a single crack in his practiced composure ( creatures of deceit they both were, trained to deceive not only others, but their own selves, so they wouldn’t fall victim to their own self-hatred ). What had gotten into him? She knew his laughter didn’t hold any ill intentions before he even felt the necessity to explain himself, yet she couldn’t hide her disbelief— her usually pale complexion had started to gain a more warm color, her heart thrown out of balance, shaken as she was by his reaction. A sentiment she couldn’t properly explain was brewing inside of her, only to explode at his words.
❝ You’re out of line, Grisha! ❞ Oh. She yelled. At first, she almost didn’t recognize the sound of her voice. She didn’t mean to talk back. And yet, that burning feeling inside her chest wouldn’t quiet down. The crack in his composure had made her own shatter as well. She was mad. She knew his intention wasn’t to mock her, and the truth was, it wasn’t his laughter, as absurd as it might have been, that added fuel to that flickering fire of hers.
If we make our own prisons, then we are the ones who choose to step out of that cage all the same.
❝ To have regrets, means to have a choice. And to have a choice, is a PRIVILEGE. ❞ To have found someone who cared and worried for her and her son was a privilege she had never had before, and yet he dared to speak with such naivety, as if he had always been a choice she could have taken. He wasn’t. For most of her life, she had wandered into the darkness on her own. Don’t blame her for having lost her ability to see. Don’t look down on her. She didn’t want him to look down on her. She didn’t want him to feel pity for her. But that misconception of his was her fault— hiding behind the mask of her own choices, lying even to herself that she had any control in her life. Had she truly chosen the bars of her confinement, or pretended to? If so, why couldn’t she get out, as easily as he claimed she could? Was it that her wings were broken, or that she had never known how to fly?
Hopelessness and helplessness were two different things. Kuchel had never wanted Grisha to see her as either hopeless or helpless, but as someone who had simply made her choices. Grisha laughed at her hopelessness, and suddenly Kuchel felt as if she were truly helpless. A cruel realization. That she, even if she wanted to, couldn’t escape this prison any longer. It was far too late. In those cracks in her composure, doubt found its way in. What if she had asked for help long ago? What if she had followed Kenny? What if she wasn’t too prideful? If she had never ended up in this place—
Her eyes burned, and a hand was brought to her mouth, as if to silence herself. Don’t say anything else. ❝ I. . . I apologize. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. To you, of all people. ❞ She wouldn’t find shelter in her apathy; instead, she’d remain exposed before him, a sign of her remorse for the way she had spoken. It wasn’t his fault, or his misunderstanding. It was hers— she realized now that they weren’t the same. As similar as their pain was, he belonged to a world that was far too alien from her own. She truly had ended up in this place, because she belonged with the dirt. He saw a world outside of this cage. She didn’t.
❝ You’re right. ❞ Her voice shattered, muffled by the hand she had brought to cover her mouth, now turned into a fist she pressed to her forehead. Her eyes were tightly shut. She couldn’t look at him anymore, the ache in her chest making her eyes burn, even when the light in the room was low. ❝ I have one regret. ❞ A choice she thought was hers to make. The choice to bring a life into this world. ❝ He’s my . . . ❞ Regret. ❝ I— … ❞ She couldn’t speak. ❝ I was a fool, Grisha. ❞ I thought I could get us out of this cage. And if I couldn't, that we'd still be free. ❝ If I knew I was going to die. . . ❞ I wouldn’t have made the choice.
