Book 2: Interludes 1/3 Chase and Aubrey

Helpless Compliance

I’m sorry.

God.

I am so sorry.
—Chase Cook

Chase had a thousand memories running through his head as he failed to sleep. Things he’d have said he'd forgotten if asked the day before. It wouldn't even have been a lie. Casual cruelties were much easier remembered by the victim than the perpetrator, after all. 

Every jab and sneer. Every harsh word he’d ever said to Alex’s girlfriend. All of them presented themselves like mold under tile. 

He didn't regret them. Not exactly. Or... not in the way he would have, once. 

He had been undeniably cruel to Violet. For eleven years, he’d taunted her. Taken her misfortune and rubbed it in her face. He’d looked down on her. Ridiculed her. Tried to drive her away from Alex. Both to her face and behind her back. 

He had a dozen excuses at the ready. Violet never treated Alex well. Chase’s father practically hated him. Violet was an easy outlet for frustration. And on and on and on. He could almost accept any of them as reasonable. 

But he didn't have room for bitterness or self-pity. Not anymore. He would own his mistakes. He was not a good person, and he never had been. It didn't matter who his father was. It didn't matter why he did it. It didn't even fucking matter that he’d been right about Violet.

Moving forward, it would be easier to assume he deserved whatever Violet did to him. Whether it be mockery, torment, or death. He wasn't going to waste his time justifying his past to himself. He would accept whatever happened to him as a bill come due. However harsh. However severe. He could accept that he deserved it.

Because Alex hadn't. Caitlyn hadn't. Violet had hurt innocent people, and she had enjoyed it. And deserving or otherwise, Chase was the only person who knew the truth.

He’d know the moment they landed at the bottom of the tower. When Violet’s blood had spattered across his face and ruined his uniform. He’d seen it in Kiera's horrified eyes as she found them there, even as he was too dazed to crawl off of the murderous body beneath him.

Everything she’d said was true. He could tell the police about her confession. He could tell the headmaster. He could tattoo the truth on his chest and go door to door handing out zines. No one was going to arrest the heroic Asher on the word of the washout red. They were never going to. He should have known as much the moment she whispered in his ear.

Even then, he didn't stand a chance. But once she was so badly hurt “saving” him? 

When he’d made it to the infirmary, he’d almost spilled everything. He’d nearly ignored everything Violet had said and recounted the entire conversation on the tower. But he could see the faces around him. The expressions worn by the healers. The panicked worry worn by Kiera.

He would ruin a life if he told the truth, but it wouldn't be Violet’s. 

He would be ostracized. He would be rejected and discarded, and the entire academy would loathe him. And worst of all, he’d lose his chance to stop her. He’d never be allowed near her again. Any attempts he made to prove his claims would be seen as petty vanity. And the next person to repeat them? They’d be saddled with the burden of his ruined credibility.

Violet was a monster. Far worse than Chase had ever imagined. She was violent, and petty, and prideful. And she was well-loved. 

She had taunted him with the murder of his best friend. She was toying with him. 

He didn't have a plan yet. He was still processing the pit he found himself in. Violet was going to keep tormenting him. Reminding him of his failure and his powerlessness. All he could do was deny her as much influence as possible.

He would be kind to her. Defend her when she was ridiculed. Even behind her back, he would only speak well of her. Even when she was inevitably accused by someone else. 

The thought made him sick. It twisted in his stomach like a snare and cut at him with each movement of his body. He felt dirty. Shameful. Filthier than any mistake or dark secret he’d ever hidden. Violet horrified him, and any words about her deserved barbs and lethal aim.

But he was also afraid of her. To his everlasting humiliation, he was terrified of her. Yet he had to stop her. 

He had no idea how he was going to do it, and he knew she’d have her eye on him until he was dead. Which would be as soon as she was bored with him. So this was the only choice left to him.

To bow. And to grovel. And to weep as she dug her heel into his skull. 

But he would survive. And he would have access to her. 

Her confession would never be enough. Not when he was the one to present it. He could never accuse her, no matter what he did. She was right. He’d only be a weight around the neck of anyone else who tried. His original plan hadn’t been built around Violet. Not who she actually was. He hadn’t understood the depths of evil in her soul. Not even when he’d realized she’d killed Alex. 

But she would slip eventually. And when she did... he would be there. Whatever it took.

He just hoped he could convince himself to sleep in the meantime.

Selfish and Uncharitable Conspiracies

Never make excuses for red flags.

I understand. Witch hunts can hurt people.
That’s not what I am suggesting.

But if you feel unsafe.
If you feel afraid.

You never have a responsibility to ignore that.
—Aubrey Clarke

It was late, but Aubrey was struggling to shut her mind off. She opened the book Violet had left at her door. She wished her new friend had taken the time to actually speak to her, but the note with the gift explained why she hadn’t. Something to do with Bouvier. Which was fine, there was just... something Aubrey couldn’t get out of her head.

She stared at the third chapter of Watership Down, but she didn’t read it. She actually hadn’t heard of the book before. When she perused the archives to look it up, she learned it was apparently fairly well-known in the old world. She enjoyed the first two chapters well enough, but she was too distracted to really get into it. She also didn’t love reading the way Violet and Kiera seemed to. She enjoyed it enough, but she’d prefer to be out and moving in some way. Still, it was a thoughtful gift. It mattered to Violet, and the girl was sharing it. That meant something.

Aubrey ran her thumb along the necklace Violet had given her. Just before the disastrous trip into the mist. It was beautiful and kind. And everything Violet had been doing was sweet. It almost dulled the sting of the other girl’s contempt. Almost.

Aubrey sighed and put the book down for the third time in ten minutes. Everything just felt wrong to her, somehow. Like clothes she’d grown out of. It was impossible to focus on the story. She put the book back on her nightstand, sliding the drawing Violet had left with it between the pages. She didn’t know if it was meant as a bookmark, but it made a good one. She rolled over and let her head fall to her pillow.

Ajia was snoring again. Oddly, her roommate only did this when she was Ajia. As AJ, he slept like a rock. In her feminine body, Ajia was like a lawnmower on the other side of the room. When questioned, Ajia insisted this was entirely by accident. Aubrey didn’t believe her for a second. Aubrey wore the uniform with pants herself, so the fact that Ajia chose the same wasn’t particularly strong evidence. On its own, it was hard to tie to the seemingly unrelated noise the girl made in her sleep. But... as AJ, he wore the skirt and blouse. Her roommate liked subverting expectations. At least, the expectations people from smaller towns like Flag might’ve had. 

No one in Prism even noticed these choices. Aubrey didn’t really care either way. But she had a sneaking suspicion that Ajia made herself snore exclusively when she was a woman. Likely only because it vaguely seemed like a masculine habit. And that was good for her, if that was what she wanted to do. But damn, it was loud.

It was always possible that it was a coincidence. Ajia didn’t have perfect control over her shapeshifting, as Aubrey had seen on several occasions. Little quirks popped up here and there, and this was probably one of them. But when it was the middle of the damn night, it was hard not to be uncharitable. It was perhaps the silliest conspiracy of all time. But it seemed less silly when Aubrey was tired.

It was also a harmless place to direct her suspicion. And she needed to put it somewhere, or she’d find herself snapping at Violet for no reason again. She felt so bad about the last time she’d done it. Every time she’d done it, in fact. 

Violet had always turned out to be right in the end. She was always trying to help people at her own expense. And when Aubrey had doubted Kiera, Violet hadn’t wavered. Which, whatever the rumors said, was obviously the correct choice. If Violet hadn’t believed Kiera, Aubrey would have been poisoned by Samuel, and the entire team would have been killed by the queen.

Again, Aubrey owed Violet her life. Yet, Violet was the one constantly trying to make up for their fight. This only served to make Aubrey feel more guilty with every passing day. The gifts and the kindness and the trust. 

Made all the worse by that seed of suspicion Aubrey still couldn’t stamp out. It was so petty and small. So self-absorbed. It was the damn guilt. She hated feeling like this. Like she’d betrayed and hurt a kind person. More than once, too. From the moment Aubrey met Violet, she’d attacked her unprovoked. Then, she’d attacked Kiera, who’d become Violet’s best friend somehow. 

Aubrey had excuses for this, but it was all projecting. She was trying to fit her old stalker’s clothes on Violet just because a few ticks were familiar. Josh had really done a number on her. Enough that she’d been relieved when she was drafted. But even with Josh trapped back in Flag, she was still seeing his shadow everywhere she looked. Even behind one of the kindest girls she'd ever met.

She had to get it out of her head. This stupid idea that Violet was some kind of secret abuser. Josh would never let himself get that badly hurt. Not to manipulate Aubrey. Not for any reason ever. The only explanation that made any sense was that Violet was exactly what she seemed. An extremely empathetic girl who sometimes didn’t think before she spoke. But one who would burn and smile while her skin melted, just so long as she kept everyone else safe. 

Aubrey just felt guilty herself. It was the arrogant insistence that someone had to be lying to her. She didn’t kill Stephanie. She didn’t start accusing a victim and friend at the first sign of trouble. She wasn’t a bad person. 

Violet had to be the problem, right? The girl who’d fought for her life to get them to the school. The one who’d spent a week in a coma so Aubrey could make it home. Obviously, Violet was the problem.

That would be so easy to believe. So much easier than examining her own faults.

That was where the idea came from. The idea that her scream had managed to kill Stephanie, but Violet had barely cared. Violet, who was an entire category lower and even more badly injured.

There were obvious explanations for this. Stephanie had taken a direct hit. Violet had only been near the scream. Stephanie hadn’t been expecting it. Violet had. It was obvious why the effect wasn’t consistent. Aubrey had expected the difference to be more... stark. But even so. There was nothing strange about it. 

She rolled over again and grabbed the book. She figured if she wasn’t going to sleep, she should give the book another shot. 

She paused as she opened it and saw the card again. Violet really was a talented artist. One of the skills her parents had pushed her into learning, no doubt, during their search for her calling. It was impressive, for sure. Although, Aubrey really didn’t understand the intent behind the gift. Why a tarot card? Kiera had mentioned that Violet drew these in her spare time. With the goal of completing a deck. Which wasn’t so strange. It was a respectable hobby.

It was strange, though. How Violet had chosen to draw Aubrey on one of them. Aubrey shifted the card in her hands and read the title. “Knight of Swords.” She didn’t know what it meant, but Aubrey had been depicted on a white horse and swinging a blade. She wondered if the deck would be incomplete without it. 

But it didn’t matter. It was a sweet thing to do, anyway.