If you look up Sheyla Tierney in any credible dictionary, you’ll see one brief definition. Wishy-washy. That’s what I am. My element probably should’ve been water. I can’t seem to make up my mind from one minute to the next. That’s what happens when you’re only working with limited information. Your decisions ring true at the time, then you learn new things requiring you to alter your perspective.

Adapt to survive. That’s the goal. Survival. I’m going for broke with what I have available, and what I have available at the moment is a spark stoker who soothes the very burn he causes. His mere presence brings my fire closer to the surface. I need that burn right now to help my mom.

Bright side: he seems aware of my reluctance to talk and doesn’t press the matter on our drive to the hospital. Did he hang up his hammer for good, or is he waiting to strategically whack me a good one? The talk is without doubt coming, but he should see her first. A tangible who is a gateway for the rest.

Justifying our lies, are we? Superego admonishes.

Omissions are an integrity gray area. I haven’t intentionally perpetuated a lie, not like everything else I’m keeping from him. I’m not even omitting a truth, just delaying one. Besides, he hasn’t asked me about her, same as I haven’t asked about his absent father. It’s been mutually avoided in our conversations. Avoided is a stretch. We simply haven’t broached the topic, being our relationship is so fresh. Whatever his home situation is can’t be as weird as prepping him to meet my comatose mother. No, really, don’t dress up. She won’t mind. What should you say? Whatever you like. It’s impossible to offend her. Don’t be upset if she doesn’t reply. Trust me, it’s not you. She’s not much of a conversationalist. Ever.

Speaking of absent and/or non-communicative parents, specifically fathers, I need to be home before dawn breaks. An interrogation from Dad in the middle of this experiment could negatively impact the results, along with stifling my full disclosure. Fingers crossed, we can have ourselves a paper-shredding ceremony. I’ll bring the cake.

Your cake obsession knows no bounds, Superego chides.

“Are you cool?” Derry asks quietly, his worry suffocating me despite the extensive size of the SUV.

“I’m not sick or anything.” I circle my index fingers and thumbs, pleased there’s heat in the movement. “I want you to meet someone. It might help you understand what I have to tell you.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Show and tell sounds like a good way for someone to lose an eye, Superego snipes.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Maybe it’ll help you understand, too.”

I hope he’s right.

Dread slows my steps. This walk to the hospital is worse than my ritual exercise in futility. Worse even than my valediction. Is he hiding the hammer to keep me from driving the last nail in the coffin of our fledgling relationship? Reaching the doorway of her room, I take a deep breath. It’s my last opportunity to shoot straight.

First, I’ll introduce him to my mother. We’ll begin at the beginning with my visits here, my absentee landlord, and why he was the way he was. Next…I’m struggling with the next part. It’s easy enough to give him the cliff notes version of my life, but explaining recent flame-induced misfortunes will require much more effort. To be fair, I’m only scratching the surface myself. I’m not sure how to relay it in a way he’ll comprehend, let alone believe. That’s where the show part of this disclosure will be helpful. Seeing is believing, right?

I’m firm on one key point, however. He deserves the whole truth, which means it’s happening regardless how difficult this conversation is. Edit: we’ll get as far into it as possible before he goes running from the room, yelling for the white coats to take me away.

“Someone very important to me is behind this door. I sort of kept her a secret. I mean, I didn’t exactly keep this part a secret. You never asked. Sorry.” I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants. “I’m nervous.”

“Sometimes, we keep secrets because it’s the only way to protect the people around us.” His guilt has me thinking he has skeletons set to fall out of his closet, too.

“Sometimes, we keep secrets because it’s the only way to protect ourselves,” I correct him.

“Sometimes, the towline is thinner than you think.” He kisses me lightly on the lips, his hands ghosting my cheeks. “You never have to be sorry for anything.”

I’m so full of sorry I could burst. I keep running circles in my head. How could I have handled any of this differently to get where I’m standing? There isn’t a single thing I’d change. The changes I’m seeking have yet to happen, so I’d best get on with it.

I draw a deep breath of his Morning Glories and Sunshine, square my shoulders, and press open the door to my mother’s room. I expected to see her lying in the bed, her only company the monitors keeping her alive. Except, she isn’t alone, and the person beside her isn’t a person. He’s a Solathair.

Unfortunately, I’m not the only one ready to share a secret that’ll require emotional mending after it’s brought to light. My attempts to rectify a past mistake reveal a truth I may never recover from.

Ryan’s hand is glowing in a familiar and terrifying way. A blue ribbon shoots straight across the room to Derry. His eyes plead to mine, though they’re no longer his eyes. Darkness has stolen their color. The golden flecks are barely visible in the nebulous clouds.

As Ryan severs the tie between him and my boyfriend, the light disintegrates before my eyes. My recently discovered spark suppressor, the person who’s containing my energy and keeping me from exploding, is the very thing that could destroy me. Derry’s a Sumair, my savior and my executioner.