Inversion [Camp NaNoWriMo July 2021]

day 3

d a y   3

I didn't sleep at all last night. After Cian finally stopped yelling at me, I locked myself in the guest room and sat there for who knows how long until Cian was knocking on my door and telling me that it was dinnertime. My stomach was growling by that point, but I wasn't hungry, hadn't been hungry in days, and so I ignored him, and he eventually let me be. And before I knew it, the sun had set and then risen again.

Suddenly, the door slams open, and Cian barges in, an obstinate look in his eyes. He stumbles to a halt when his eyes land on me, and he flushes. I had changed into my most comfortable tank top and shorts, both of which are years old and just the slightest bit too small, the tank top revealing a pale strip of my stomach and the shorts barely reaching past the curve of my butt. It's by far too skimpy for me to feel at ease in front of other people, but I can't muster the embarrassment.

"Okay, this sulking has got to stop." When Cian recovers, he crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at me. "You've been acting depressed for days now, and it's not healthy." He stalks over to stand in front of me, glaring down at me when I don't acknowledge his presence. I'm sitting in the middle of the bed, legs drawn up to my chest, arms around my knees, staring blankly out the window. "My god! Stop moping around like your life's over!"

The irony of his words draws my attention, and I turn my wide eyes to him finally, waiting for him to realize what he just said. It takes a few seconds, but it eventually registers, and he lets out a string of expletives under his breath. "Okay, poor choice of words. Maybe your old life is over, but you have a new one. Jeremy is back, and you're still alive. This could have been a lot worse, you know. Would you rather spend the rest of your life hating yourself and having your dad hate you?"

"I would rather," I say slowly, forcing the words out through gritted teeth, "be with my family."

"I know that," Cian snaps. "But you can't. So get over it. You had two choices: Nothing changes, and Jeremy stays dead. Or you give up your life for Jeremy. You chose the second, so now live with it. Sulking around isn't helping anyone—not you, not Jeremy, not anyone."

"So tell me." I have to pause to take a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "What am I supposed to do for the rest of my life? Allyra King is dead. Who am I supposed to be? Where am I supposed to go? It's easy to say, 'Call me Lyra.' But what if I get sick and need to go to the hospital? What if I need to travel? What if I need to do anything in the real world? I have no records, nothing to show that I—whoever I am—even exist anymore."

My shoulders slump as the anger drains from my body, and Cian's expression softens. He lowers himself onto the bed and reaches out a hand, as if to touch my arm, but he pulls back instead. "You create a new identity," he says quietly. "Whoever you want to be. And we make that person real. There are Death deities everywhere, including the government and all over the world. We can get the paperwork settled for you, and you'll get a fresh start as anyone you want to be."

I attempt a smile, and I think I manage a small, shaky one before it disappears. "That seems like a lot of trouble."

Cian returns my smile. "Life is too precious to worry about something as trivial as paperwork."

* * *

I sit at the kitchen counter, on one of the two stools, watching Cian move around the kitchen. I offered to get my own breakfast, but he insisted that I'm too tired to even do that. Cian places a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and sausages in front of me. A second plate of toast follows before he settles down on the other stool with his own, significantly smaller, plate of food.