A translucent veil falls between Avery's mind and her body, like the theater lights shutting off between the scenes of a play. Where you can just make out shadows shifting the stage around. Is it her fault?

Obviously. Something was off earlier and you did nothing. Said nothing.

Even through the veil, her heart hammers into her head. A disconnected pain radiates from her temples with each beat. It was just the intrusive thoughts. That's it. That's all it was, right?

You know it wasn't.

Avery clenches her eyes shut and buries her face in her palms. Stars bloom in the darkness. I do?

Obviously.

Larry was slow to eat... Or did he just hide for a minute? Avery racks her mind, forcing the memory to play. Larry's eyes blaze purple and fizzle out: he flits around and dives into his —

Memories can lie. You should listen to me. To us.

The memory plays again. Larry dives into a bit of moss and comes right back out to eat. He wasn't slow... The memory plays again. Again and again, the same every time. Am I remembering wrong?

We could be.

I-I know what I saw. Do I? Do we?

Which thoughts are actually her's? All of them.

Tamika's voice comes from just beside Avery, softer than her usual bravado. "Are you okay?"

The veil lifts. Sweat covers Avery's body, dampens her clothes. She uncovers her eyes and stares at Larry's tiny, bobbing form. "O-oh. I just... I don't know. I didn't expect this."

Yes you did, tell her the truth.

Tendrils wrap around Avery's lungs. They constrict, pushing out her last breath of air; pain flares in her throat. She can't tell the truth... does she even know what the truth is?

Tamika reaches a hand toward Avery's shoulder, but hesitates, leaving it hovering. "The first one is hard."

Avery's eyes dart to the hovering hand. She could shrug away, could ask Tamika not to touch her. Maybe even just run away and hide. Tamika would understand. Instead, Avery stares back at Larry and the subtle reflection of herself in the tank's glass, her gaze as lifeless as the fish.

With that brief acknowledgment, Tamika lets her hand clap onto Avery's shoulder. "It always happens at some point, but I'm sorry it had to be so soon for you."

Avery's voice squeaks past the pain in her throat, warbling through the heavy warmth building behind her eyes. "What did I do wrong?"

Tamika squeezes, near imperceptibly. "Nothing."

She's just trying to make you feel better. Tell her why it's your fault —

Before Avery has a chance to wrestle with her own thoughts, Tamika speaks again. "We've got to take care of him now. Are you up to that? It's part of the job, but I won't force it on you this time."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Those tendrils wrap tighter, crushing and immovable. Breath refuses to draw and the pain of trying strips Avery's throat. She swallows, but nothing happens. The world jumbles in front of her, flickering in iridescent tones and stretching through her vision in odd, warping silhouettes.

Tell her.

She clutches at her chest. "I'm sorry, I noticed— I mean, I can't—" Each word plays with the pressure, swelling and ebbing on every change of intention.

Tamika slides in front of Avery and locks eyes, her usually bun-gathered dreads loose and sweeping over her outstretched arm. "You can take your time, Avery."

Something in Tamika's eyes is enough. Forgiveness, pity, understanding? Whatever it is, it sends hot tears bubbling down Avery's cheeks and her struggling lungs plummeting into her stomach. She wrenches away from Tamika's hand and barrels back toward the door.

Tamika calls after her. "Avery! It's —"

Avery crashes against the metal door and the rest of Tamika's words disappear in the buzz of aquarium goers.

----------------------------------------

No sound seeps into the hallway from Avery's home on the third floor of the Maysfield Condominiums. Amid the silence, Avery sniffles, waiting for some rush of courage to sweep her along through the door and into her room without a fuss. Hopefully. Dad's probably home though. Sitting on a hard dining room chair instead of the sofa, reading some new fantasy book. Probably.

Nothing changes in the hallway. No neighbors come or go, no interruption to the steady hum of cars driving past outside. Nothing new to use as a distraction, as an excuse to keep Dad in the dark for a moment longer.

Tears are long gone. Still, something wells up from her throat: an odd warmth that spreads up into her eyes, sending pain sparking around their surface. Her eyelids flicker; her face collapses into a dry, airless pout with teeth bare. She tries to let go, to let the tears come. But only chesty coughs rack her throat, leaving burning streaks of pain. He's going to be disappointed. So, so disappointed in her.

A door three units down creaks open. Panic clears Avery's throat and mind: she needs to get to her room. She fumbles with the key against the lock, clattering metal against metal long enough for even the slowest person in the building to make their way over and ask her what's wrong. No one does. Clacking shoes and the excited, high pitched voices of children echo down the hallway from the open door.

Quick, they'll be here soon. Avery steadies her hand and the key finally clinks past the lock's warding. A twist and a push and she falls through the door into her family's home. Dad stares — wide-eyed — over his reading glasses, finger still hovering over the page of a book on the dining room table. "Avery? I didn't expect you back so — " His moment of surprise falls into dismay and he jumps to his feet. "Oh gosh, are you alright?"

The shame eats at her, gnawing at her heart and mind like she just fell headfirst into a tank of piranhas with higher expectations. She hides her red, swollen face with a hand and dashes toward her room.

He doesn't give chase. Avery bolts past the threshold of her room and she slams the door shut. Afternoon light shifts with the sway of curtains, some rays sparkling off an empty water glass near her window and casting her room in a spectacular dance of rainbow hues.

She collapses into bed nose-first. The pillows around her are hot, stuffy. Each exhale turns the soft cotton into scalding clouds that engulf her entire face. She twists her head, freeing her mouth from the oppressive heat and cold air rushes into her lungs.

Time passes. She's not sure how much: she just stares at a wall of pillows for a while, closes her eyes, opens them to look blankly into the pillows again. An odd numbness creeps over her mind. All the emotion is still there, but she can't move a muscle, can't will a tear. Can't even force a cough up her pain streaked throat. So time passes and she lies there, unmoving.

Porcelain scrapes against wood as a plate sneaks under her door. Avery sucks in another garbling sniff full of mucus and raises her head just far enough to see past her pile of pillows. Right in front of her door sits two slices of carrot cake: white fondant wrapped around layers of orange sponge and interspersed with streaks of cream. Her favorite.

Dad speaks muffled words from the hallway. "There's more in the kitchen if you want it. I'm going to take a walk, so call if you need anything."

The dam breaks and tears flow sideways from one eye into the other, filling her vision with bubbly distortions. Why? Why can't he just let her fail? She clutches a handful of blankets and retches through tears and gasping breaths.