Chapter 171: Insanity

Walter

I sat staring out the window of the private hospital suite. The lower half of my face was completely smothered in thick bandages, the white gauze tight and agonizing against my skin.

Everything hurts. My entire face was painful and numb, yet simultaneously throbbing with a deep, searing heat that radiated straight into my jaw and skull. I couldn’t feel a single gentle sensation, only the blunt, heavy ache of ruined flesh.

Outside, the sun was just beginning to rise over the skyline of Prone City, painting the clouds in faint hues of orange and grey. I sat there staring at the horizon, praying with everything I had that something interesting outside, a passing bird, a distant car, the morning light, could blur out the blinding pain I felt inside and out.

But all praying was futile.

No matter where I looked, the exact same scene played on a horrifying, endless loop inside my head, Lorali, standing over me in that dimly lit set clinic, holding that scalpel. The manic, terrifying tilt of her head. The swift, cold slice across my cheek. The sound of my own voice screaming as blood covered my hands. And then... her laughter. That high, breathless, unhinged laughter echoing in the small room as she looked down at me like I was a bug she had just pinned to a board.

There was nothing I could do to stop the memory. It played over and over again, clawing at my sanity.

The doctor had come in and checked on my vitals a couple of times throughout the night. He had been overly gentle, using that soft, sympathetic tone medical professionals use when delivering catastrophic news. He said the cut on my face was deep, deep enough to sever tissue, and that there would almost certainly be a permanent, jagged scar left behind across my face.

Surprisingly, that was not what was causing me the most pain. I was a model. My face was quite literally my career, but the thought of a ruined cheek face barely registered.

What was causing me the most pain, what felt like a heavy iron boot pressing down on my chest, was the fact that it was only now finally sinking into me that Lorali is crazy. Truly, deeply, wildly unhinged.

And my pack is entirely to blame for that madness.

We had taken a girl who wanted nothing but to be in a pack, loved by her feared mates and we had pushed her into a corner. We had backed her into a corner, mocked her, treated her like trash under our shoes, ignored her pain, and bound her against her will. We had fractured her mind until it finally snapped. We built this monster with our own hands, and yesterday, she had simply handed us the bill.

"I swear to Goddess she is going to pay for this," Oril snarled from the armchair beside my bed for the hundredth time.

I didn’t even turn my head. I had learned to ignore him over the last three hours because Oril was living in a fantasy land. Lorali was, in fact, not going to pay for what she did. Not if I had anything to say about it.

Whatever she did to me, whatever she did to this entire pack, we deserved it. Every single drop of blood spilled on that floor was a long-overdue debt being collected.

Oril reached over, placing his hand over mine where it rested on the armrest, trying to comfort me. But his gesture provided very little support. His hand on mine wouldn’t change the fact that my modeling career was probably dead and buried. It wouldn’t change the fact that Lorali was insane. It wouldn’t change the fact that we had done irreparable, catastrophic damage to that girl’s mind, or that her forgiveness was something that was now permanently out of reach.

A faint, hushed voice echoed from the corridor outside my hospital room. A second later, the door swung open, and Keion, Augi, Torin, and Oracle came flooding into the room. Augi and Keion hurried straight to my bedside, both of them looking pale as ghosts, their eyes wide with sheer shock.

"Are you okay, Walter?" Keion asked, his voice trembling so badly it sounded like he was on the absolute verge of tears.

I forced a faint, tight smile beneath my bandages, keeping my voice low. "Better than ever."

Torin didn’t move toward the bed. He stood near the entrance, his tall frame rigid, his eyes scanning the room, completely unbothered by my sarcastic reassurances. "Where is Lorali?" Torin demanded smoothly, his voice cutting through the heavy air. "Do any of you know what room she’s in?"

That single question seemed to set Oril completely over the tracks. He shot out of his armchair, his face twisting into an expression of rage as he turned on Torin. "Why would you bring that evil, evil witch up right now?!" Oril blew up, shouting right into Torin’s face. "Look at Walter! She did this to him! She cut his face open!"

Torin remained icy calm, not even flinching at Oril’s outburst. "I know. I just want to know where she is. I don’t want to fight you, Oril. You seem to already be going through a lot."

"Whose fault is that?!" Oril screamed, gesturing wildly toward my bed. "Lorali is crazy! She is a complete psycho! Do you know she cut herself, Torin?! She cut her own damn face so that she could still play the victim when everyone came bursting through the door! She definitely cut herself on purpose!"

I turned my head slowly on the pillow, my eyes locking onto Oril. "Whose fault do you think it is that she’s crazy?" I asked softly, my voice muffled by the thick gauze.

The entire room instantly went dead silent.

Oril froze, his mouth hanging open. Keion swallowed hard, looking down at the floorboards. Augi shifted his weight uncomfortably, and Oracle remained standing in the shadows by the door, his jaw set. Nobody said a word. The cold, ugly truth hung in the air, suffocating us all.

Torin broke the silence, his eyes fixed on the hallway. "I will leave now. I’ll ask the doctor where I can find her." He turned on his heel and walked out, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Lorali

The morning air atop the hospital rooftop was utterly intoxicating. I stood right near the edge of the concrete ledge, my arms spread wide open, my chest rising and falling as I breathed in deep, greedy gulps of the Prone City sky. The wind whipped through my purple hair, tugging at the thin cotton of my hospital gown.

The lower half of my face felt stiff and pulled tight. I had a thick white bandage taped securely across my cheek, covering a neat line of black surgical stitches running from my cheekbone down to my upper lip.

And yet, despite the slight sting in my skin, I couldn’t be any happier.

I am on cloud nine, a breathless, giddy laugh bubbled up inside my chest. An hour ago, Doctor Quid came into my room to inspect my face. He had looked at my cut, applied some ointment, and assured me with a warm smile that because the slice was clean and shallow, the stitches would fade completely within a few months, leaving barely a trace behind.

Walter, on the other hand? I heard the doctor’s said Walter’s cut was deep, jagged, and brutal. His scar was going to take a very long time to heal. In fact, the doctor admitted it may never fade at all. His perfect face may officially be ruined.

A permanent scar, My heart practically danced a jig behind my ribs. Every single time he looks in the mirror for the rest of his pathetic life, he is going to see my mark on his cheek. He’s going to remember who put it there.

Behind me, the heavy steel rooftop door creaked open, the sound of slow, heavy footsteps echoing against the concrete.

I didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was. The heavy, dark pressure of his presence hit the back of my neck before his scent hit my nose. But for the first time in my life, the sound of his voice didn’t tick me off like it normally did. I was in entirely too good of a mood to let him ruin my high.

"What are you doing up here, Lorali?" Torin’s voice purred smoothly over the rush of the wind. "Shouldn’t you be in bed?"

I lowered my arms slowly, turning my head to look back at him over my shoulder. He was standing a few feet away, dressed in a charcoal coat, his dark eyes studying my bandaged face with an unreadable expression. "Torin!" I chirped, offering him a bright, cheerful wave. "Don’t you want to come take in the air with me? It’s gorgeous out here today."

Torin didn’t move. He kept his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his brow pulling into a faint, serious line. "Why did you do it, Lorali? What is the problem? I thought everything was going well."

I tilted my head, putting on my absolute best innocent, bewildered expression. "Do what?"

"Don’t play dumb," Torin said, his voice dropping into a hard, demanding register. "Why did you disfigure Walter?"

"Oh, that?" I gasped, bringing a hand up to rest lightly against my bandaged cheek. "I was defending myself! He hurt me, Torin! We had a terrible disagreement in the clinic, things got out of hand, and we both got hurt." Torin let out a low, tired breath, taking two slow steps closer to me. "Please, Lorali. I know you. And I’m far smarter than to actually believe you."

I threw my head back and let out a genuine, ringing laugh that echoed out over the edge of the building. "But I remember there was once a time when you were not!" I shot back, my voice laced with wicked amusement.

I spun around on my heel, doing a graceful, fluid turn in the middle of the rooftop, letting the wind catch my gown like I was gliding across a pristine sheet of ice.

"This is the happiest day of my life, Torin!" I declared, looking at him with bright, wild eyes. "It’s even happier than the day I qualified for Regionals!"

Torin stood there, watching me spin, a dark shadow crossing his features as he looked at me like I had completely lost my mind.

"I don’t even mind that you’re looking at me like I’m crazy right now," I added, stepping closer to the ledge and resting my hands on the concrete barrier. "Mind you... I am not. That little prince had it coming. He deserved every single millimeter of that blade."

I turned my face toward the rising sun, looking out over the sprawling, gleaming grid of skyscrapers, avenues, and glass towers stretching as far as the eye could see.

For the first time in a very long time, I was actually liking Prone City.