Chapter 106 Nasty
Malia's POV
Coach Herriman's office reeks of ancient leather and liniment with walls plastered with team photos reaching back several decades. I perch on the seat opposite his huge oak desk, my hands are folded on my lap to conceal the trembling and all I want is to be invisible.
He’s been quiet for a long time, not more than a minute, but simply gazing at me with those piercing brown eyes that probably saw everything. The bear shifter inside him exudes authority even when he’s completely stationary.
Finally, he speaks.
“Miss Reed Do you understand why you’re here?”
“Yes sir.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “The incident in Combat Training. With Victoria.”
“Incident.” He leans back in his chair, and under his weight it creaks. “That’s a nice way of saying throwing another student into a concrete wall that you break.”
Shame burns hot in my chest. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know you didn’t.” He interrupts other texts, but not unkindly. “I’ve been instructing in the application of force for fifteen years. I can tell when it’s premeditated, and when it’s an emotional response. What we did in my class was the latter.”
I nod, myself unconvinced by my own words.
“Victoria Chesfield is in the medical bay,” he says. “Cracked ribs, sprained wrist, severe bruising, possible concussion.” She'll get better, but—” He stops. “She’s lucky you didn’t kill her, Malia.”
The words smack me like a physical blow. I clench my fists on my lap.
"What gone so far wrong?" Coach Herriman says, now leaning in, "is that you ended up with this level of loss of control. You're a hybrid—enhanced strength, yes, but nothing that should give you that level of force output. Not even close to someone of Victoria's skill level."
I have to swallow hard. "I've no idea what went wrong."
"Don't you?" His stare is intrusive. "Or is it that you don't want to tell me?"
The energy buzzes under my skin, reacting to my heightened stress. I cup my hands over my knees, willing it to stay asleep.
"I have been—" I search for the words. "Stressed. This semester has been tough. I can't sleep."
"Stress." He says it like he doesn't quite believe me. "Malia, I've seen students under stress. Hell, I've seen students at their breaking point. It was not that. It was something else entirely."
He's right. We both know he's right.
"Are there other strange symptoms you're noticing?" he asks. “Nothing physical? Any new powers?”
I think of the glowing hands. The nosebleeds that disappear without a trace. The wolf eyes that should not be in my hybrid DNA. The nightmares bleeding into reality.
“No,” I lie.
Coach Herriman regards me for a long moment. I make myself hold his gaze, don’t look away, don’t give him any reason to doubt the lie.
“Alright,” he says at last, though I can tell he doesn’t believe me. "This is what’s going to happen. You are suspended from Combat Training for two weeks. During that time, you will have two appointments per week to talk about stress management and emotional regulation with the campus counselor—Dr. Morrison."
"But I—"
"That’s not up for negotiation." His voice is firm. “You hurt another student. Badly . We can’t just say ‘well, there doles out consequences. The only reason it’s not worse—the only reason you’re not being kicked out—is because I believe it was a genuine accident. But—” He leans forward again. "If anything like this happens again, accident or not, your done here. Alright?"
“Yes sir.” The words taste like ash.
"Good." He takes a pen and starts writing something on a form. "I'm also putting you forward for a medical evaluation. Dr. Wolfbeam at the health center has a specialty in supernatural physiology. She can see if there's a biological cause for the power spike."
My stomach drops. A medical evaluation calls for tests. Tests mean they may come up with signs of whatever’s happening to me.
“Is that—is that necessary?”
"It's strongly recommended. “ He slides the form across the desk toward me.”“But I can’t make you. But—” His expression softens a bit. “Malia, if there’s something going on with you physically, if your powers are manifesting in ways you don’t expect, that’s not your fault. But it's risky. For you and everyone you’re around. Better safe than sorry.”
With numb fingers I take the form. “Okay.”
“And Malia?” He waits until I look up, and I meet his eyes. “Whatever it is—stress, power manifestation, relationship problems, whatever—you don’t have to deal with it by yourself. That’s what we’re here for. The counselors, the doctors, your professors. We want to help.”
I nod, my voice betraying me and cracking.
He waves me off with a hand, already turning back to his computer. I lean on shaky legs and move slowly toward the door.
“Miss Reed?”
I hesitate, my hand on the doorknob.
“Victoria will be fine,” he says quietly. “But she was terrified. Remember that.”
The words trail after me down the hall, pelting like stones in my stomach.
—------
The infirmary is on the second floor of the student services building — white walls, sterile smell, the low buzz of medical machines. I shouldn't be here. Should go straight back to July's dorm, hide under blankets and pretend this isnt happening.
But I have to see her. I need to know how badly I hurt her.
The nurse at the front desk did not even look up when I inquired for Victoria Chesfield.
“Room 204. But she has visitors—only two at a time."
I turn and head down the hall, my footsteps too loud on the tile floor.
The door to 204 is slightly open. I hear voices inside—female, familiar. I slow as I approach, staying just out of sight.
“—totally nuts,” Victoria’s voice was strained but still strong. “I’m telling you, she went off the deep end. Her eyes turned gold and she just—” A pause. “I thought she was going to murder me.”
"She ought to be expelled." That’s Charlotte, the girl who changed seats to get away from me. "What she did was assault. Attempted murder, basically."
"You know how it is with scholarship students. They get special treatment because of ‘diversity’ or whatever.”
My hands curl into fists.
“It’s not about the scholarship,” Victoria says, and there’s something in her tone—not quite fear, but close. “There’s something off with her. Like actual wrong. The way she moved, the force behind that hit—that’s not normal hybrid strength.”
“Maybe she’s unstable,” Charlotte suggests. “I heard hybrids sometimes break down mentally. The hybrid genetics can cause, like, mental disorders.”
“Or maybe she’s just a violent freak who shouldn’t be in these halls.” Sophia’s voice is cold. “Either way, I’m going to stay the hell away from her. And everyone else too.”
“Half the sophomore class has already been texted," says Victoria. “They have to know that she’s a threat.”
Something in me snaps.
I should get out. Should walk out before they find out I'm here. But I can't make my feet move.
"When Aiden heard, did you see his face?" Charlotte asks. “He looked horrified. I bet he’s reconsidering the whole relationship.”
“God, I hope so," laughs Sophia. "He can do so much better. Lydia has been waiting forever, and she would treat him right."
"Lydia is the right person for him," Victoria agrees. "Same background, Same social circle, legitimately stable. Unlike the psycho hybrid that slams people into walls."
The power zooms, hot and furious through my veins. My vision flashes gold.
No. No, I can’t—I can’t—
Turning around, I hurriedly walk away before the anger in my chest can boil over, before I give any kind of indication as to how accurate all their insults just were.
The hall seems to melt. I am breathing too fast. The buzzing overhead fluorescent lights remind me of insects, too bright, too loud, too much.
I finally get to the bathroom-- not the one I broke down in with July, but the same in its cruel tile and merciless mirrors.
Lock myself in a stall.
Sink down on the toilet seat. And weeping silently while the power throbbed under my skin, furious and perspiring.
They are right. All of them.
I am dangerous. I am unstable. I do not belong here. And Aiden— The idea that he was peering at me in terror, in panic, in remorse.
It stings worse than anything Victoria has ever said. Even worse than Charlotte’s nastiness. Worse than anything.
Because perhaps he has reason to fear me now.
Maybe for all of us.
My phone buzzes. I type in the password as my hands tremble and then I pull it out.
Aiden: Can we please talk? I'm worried about you. July says you need space but I don't know what that means.
Aiden: Just tell me you’re okay.
I stump at the messages, my vision fogging with new tears. I'm not fine. Haven’t been fine in weeks. And I don’t know how to say that without making everything worse.
My fingertips are poised over the keyboard.
What do I say, How do I tell him that I’m turning into someone I don’t recognize, that I hurt someone deeply and I don’t know if I can stop it from happening again, that the power grows stronger every day and I grow weaker?
How do I say that the girl he fell in love with on the island is breaking into a million pieces I can’t put back together?
When it’s all said and done, I say nothing. I just turn off my phone and sit in the bathroom stall, cradled by the traces of my own devastation, trying to figure out how much longer I can hold this.
How long before everyone knows what I've done.
How much longer is there until there’s nothing left of me to save?
The power hums beneath my skin. Waiting.
Always waiting and I’m so tired of fighting it alone.