it's not the walls around us

I could've opened my mouth. I could've said it.

She had it in her hands. The box cutter. I could've. Those blood-soaked feathers, looking redder from blood, could've been on her hands instead of mine. But I didn't. I didn't say it. Instead, I looked up at her with my jaw slack. The color was on me, anyway. It was all me.

"Vee," she said, her eyes still wide and blank, like she was dead--a crime I could've committed, but didn't, "What did you do?"

I was still slack-jawed. I still saw red, red feathers and red blood and red lights shining down me, calling at me, shouting at me, yelling at me, caught red-handed. Maybe that was why I wanted to be the Firebird. I just wanted red.

"Vee," Ori said again, prompting me, and then I remember I was in a tunnel with two dead bodies, that the red was still there, that it never should've been on Ori in the first place.

I shook myself away from her, curling up into the small ball I could. Red. Red. I shut my eyes tight, so I couldn't see anything, but red still permeated my vision no matter what I tried to do. I let a sob. Caught red--

"Vee," Ori said again, like it was all she could say, and even with my eyes closed I could imagine her with the ghost-like expression. I feel a soft thud--the box cutter, the box cutter--and I feel arms wrap around me. Soft arms. Her hands settled around my hair. Clean hands. Her hands were definitely cleaner than mine, but I could still feel feathers around me and all I think of was red, red and blood and guts, and I tore away again.

"Don't touch me," I said quietly, shakily, like I was dead and weak and barely pulling myself up from a deep, deep hole in the ground, like I already dug my own grave--because it was true, I did--and I shakily breathed in and out and inhale and exhaled like that was the last thing I could do.

I could still see red.

"It'll--it'll be okay," Ori said quietly, as if trying to convince herself more than me. "We'll find a way out of this, Vee, you'll see. It's okay. It'll be okay."

But it wasn't. Rachel and Harmony, dead on the floor, and Ori pretending they didn't exist to console me. But they were still there, dead, glassy-eyed, mocking me even after they no longer lived and breathed and whispered nasty things. I felt warm, way too warm, like when Cody left me alone without saying a word, like my mouth couldn't move and I couldn't speak, and deep inside me I wished those box cutters could stay in my bag where they belonged, and deep inside me I thought of how convenient it would be if my hands were clean and I could be Firebird, dressed in red like Ori, but this ruined it. This ruined everything.

Soon enough, they would come. Police, in navy. They'd see me dirty red hands and take me away from my dreams, the dreams I never could've reached because of Ori anyway, and they would seal it shut. Throw it away somewhere. Seal me shut in some kind of prison, no red in sight. Just gray. Aurora Hills wouldn't look so aurora anymore, and dancing--prima ballerina--Julliard--my dream, sealed shut and tucked away would be in Ori's hands. Ori's clean, soft hands, because I never deserved it anyway.

"Vee," Ori said, her voice at a whisper, her arms gently prying mine off of myself, her hands cupping my face, her face so close I could feel feathers--red--and I could hear her breathe, calm as if nothing had happened, as if all that happened was what was with me instead of Rachel and Harmony. "It's okay. We could say it's an accident. You did nothing wrong."

Inside of me I yelled. I kicked. I screamed. I shouted. But on the outside, all I could manage was, "No."

Finally, just for a moment, I opened my eyes and saw Ori only inches away from me, glassy-eyed but concerned. For me. Concerned. Afraid. Of me. I couldn't blame her. If I had to look at those box-cutters again I would be even more scared of myself than anyone who knew me. I looked at her. Are you afraid yet? Are you scared of me?