Chapter 87 FIRST MEMORY BREAK
TRIGGER WARNING: Mention Of Self Hate & Body Dysmorphic Thoughts.
(Adam's POV)
I am small.
That’s the first thing I realized, it's like a shrinked. Not small like weaker, but small like younger. Like my limbs are shorter and the world is built too big around me. The floor is cold marble under my bare feet, smooth and pale, reflecting light that pours in from windows so tall they make my neck ache when I try to look up.
This house is enormous.
Bigger than Kael’s pack house. Bigger than anything I’ve ever been in. The ceiling curves high like the inside of a cathedral, painted with shapes I don’t understand but somehow know are important. Everything smells clean and expensive, and everywhere is quiet.
I am walking through it, but I’m also… not.
I can see him.
The boy.
He looks like me.
No— he is me, but younger. Softer. His hair is longer, tied loosely at the nape of his neck. His face is calm in a way mine never is, like he doesn’t expect the world to hurt him yet.
Archie.
He is Archie. I didn't hear anyone say his name, but I know it. It settles in my chest like a fact.
People pass by him. Tall figures in fine clothes. Some bow their heads. Some smile. Their faces blur when I try to focus. I can’t see their eyes, their mouths, nothing distinct. Just shapes where people should be.
It’s unsettling.
Archie doesn’t seem to mind.
He walks with his hands clasped behind his back, slow and careful, like someone taught him that this is how he should move. Like a little prince playing at being grown.
I want to call out to him. I did try. But my mouth couldn't move, so I followed him instead, gliding without feet, without weight. I’m not watching from far away. I’m inside the space with him, but I don’t belong to it.
The garden opens up next, wide and endless. Flowers I don’t know the names of bloom in perfect rows. The air is warm. Archie kneels near a fountain, dipping his fingers into the water and watching the ripples like they’re telling him a secret.
I feel… calm.
Too calm.
The kind of calm that feels fake when you think about it too hard.
The scene shifts without warning.
The light dims, the marble turns gray, and the walls close in.
Archie is still there… but now he’s older. Not much. Maybe eight. Maybe nine. His wrists are bound with chains.
They’re too heavy for his arms. They bite into his skin. He’s crying, his face twisted in pain and confusion, and this time I hear him.
He’s screaming.
“Stop—please—please—”
Men surround him. Their faces are still blurry, but their hands are not. Gloves. Needles. Syringes filled with something dark.
“No, no, no,” I say, or think I say. “Don’t touch him.”
One of them grabs his chin, forces his head back. The needle plunges into his neck.
Archie screams.
The sound tears through me.
I rush forward, reaching for him, desperate, frantic. My hands pass through his body like smoke. I try again. And again… I'm translucent.. I can't touch him.
“I’m here,” I tell him. “I’m right here. I’ll help you.”
Another injection. Then another.
His body convulses. He sobs until his voice breaks into something raw and animalistic. I feel it in my own throat, like my vocal cords are shredding.
“Help me!” he cries.
“I’m trying,” I scream back. “I’m trying!”
I grab at the chains, at the men, at anything— and something hits me hard in the chest. An invisible force, violent and sudden.
I’m thrown backward.
The world snaps.
I gasp and sit up, air rushing into my lungs like I’ve been underwater too long.
I’m on the couch… I'm not in— I… this is— I can't—
My heart is racing. My skin is cold. My hands are shaking so badly I have to grip the cushion to steady them.
For a moment, I don’t know where I am.
Then I recognize the room. The curtains. The faint scent of Kael. I remember sitting here earlier, drowning in thoughts after Kael confirmed that I do have a scar on my lower back.
I must’ve fallen asleep.
I stare at the wall.
The images intrude my mind… chains, needles, screams.
My chest tightens.
I press a hand to my mouth, breathing shallowly. It was just a dream. Except it didn’t feel like one. It felt… too personal. Too clear. Too painful.
I don’t realize I’m crying until my vision blurs.
“What the hell is wrong with me,” I whisper. Maybe I had the dream because I thought too long about the way Sara spoke of Archie.
My shoulders start shaking. I hate it. I hate the way my body betrays me, reacts without permission.
“I don’t want this,” I mutter. “I didn’t ask for this. What the hell is going on and why am I the only one who knows the least about my own self?!! Why does everyone know me more than me?!! I want out of this.”
My thoughts spiral, fast and ugly.
This body. This skin. This thing that isn’t even mine.
I drag my hands down my face, nails biting into my palms.
“I hate you,” I say out loud, not sure if I’m talking to my body, my past, or whatever Archie was and what Adam is. “I hate whatever you are.”
My breathing turns erratic. I laugh once, sharp and hysterical.
“Great,” I say. “So now I’m going crazy… I'm so fucking close to madness!!”
The images intrude again. Archie’s face. The pain in his innocent eyes… the screams hurting his throat.
I clutch at my shirt like I can rip something out of my chest.
“I don’t want to be you,” I whisper. “I don’t want any of this. I don’t want scars I can’t see. I don’t want memories I didn’t live.”
My voice cracks. “I don’t even want this body.”
The words spill before I can stop them.
“I want out,” I say. “I want out of my skin. Out of my head. Out of whatever the hell this is.”
I curl forward, pressing my forehead to my knees.
“I feel wrong,” I mumble. “Everything feels wrong. Like I’m wearing someone else’s skin. I want to get out.”
My hands shake harder. I dig my fingers into my arms, like if I press hard enough I’ll feel real.
“I hate you,” I repeat, quieter now. “I hate you for surviving.”
I hear the door open. I don’t look up.
Footsteps approach, slow and careful.
“Adam,” Kael says softly.
That damn name. Who even named me Adam? What kind of name is that? It's so fucking ugly. Archie too. I don't wanna be anyone.
The couch dips as he sits beside me. I feel his warmth, solid and undeniable. His hand hovers, then rests on my back.
I flinch and he stills instantly. “I won’t push,” he says. “But I’m right here.”
My breath stutters.
“I saw him,” I whisper. “I saw… me. Or him. I don’t know.”
Kael doesn’t interrupt.
“They hurt him,” I continued, words tumbling out messy and uneven. “He was screaming and I couldn't do anything to help him. He needed help and I too— I need help, I want to get out of this head.”
My voice breaks completely then. I cover my face, sobs tearing out of me.
“I can’t stop seeing it,” I say. “I can’t stop feeling it.”
Kael wraps his arms around me, firm and grounding, pulling me against his chest.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’m here with you.”
I shake my head against him. “I don’t know who I am anymore and it's not like I ever knew. I'm just floating around.”
“You’re my mate,” he says immediately. “You’re here. You’re safe.”
“I hate my body,” I confess, muffled against him. “I hate that it remembers things I don’t. I hate that it’s… wrong.”
Kael’s grip tightens just a little. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“There is,” I argue weakly. “I can feel it.”
He presses his lips to my hair. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”
I finally let go.
I cry into his chest, ugly and loud and uncontrollable. He doesn’t shush me. He doesn’t tell me to be strong. He just holds me, breathing steady, letting me wail.
And slowly, very slowly, the images loosen their grip.
I cling to him like he’s the only solid thing left.
And right now, he is.