Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 49

**KACIA**

I burst into tears, hot and humiliating. It’s not graceful or pretty crying, it’s messy and loud and sharp enough to make Dave freeze like I’ve just detonated. Poor guy looks completely beside himself, standing there with his arms half raised like he’s preparing to catch me, or maybe catch whatever is happening.

“Kaci, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Should I go get Oz?” He asks, full of concern and zero idea what he’s walking into.

“Oz is an asshole!” I snap, choking on the words, and then dissolve into another wave of sobs. Dave frowns. His confusion is obvious. He has no idea how to deal with my tears. But then, he straightens his spine. He might not know the details, but I can see it in the tilt of his chin. He’s decided that it doesn’t matter. If I’m crying, he’s on my side. He hesitates, just briefly, then gently places a hand on my shoulder like it might spook me. 

“Did Oz do something wrong?” He asks softly.

“He lied to me.” I answer through a thick sniffle, voice shaky and raw.

“Oh…” Dave replies, and it’s the most awkward, I-have-no-idea-what-to-do-with-this-information ‘oh’ I’ve ever heard. He looks like he wants to say something else, but mercifully, he’s saved by Isolde arriving. She appears without warning emerging from the shadow of a tree like she’d just grown there. Her hands are folded behind her back, and her head is tilted slightly in curiosity, like a cat sniffing out a secret. 

“Why are you crying?” She asks, with all the detached innocence of a child poking a bug. “Because Oz kept secrets from me, and I don’t know if I can trust him anymore,. I answer before I even think about it. I don’t know why I respond, maybe because she’s not pushing me. Maybe because she’s always watching anyway. Maybe because, weirdly, she feels like she isn’t asking to judge me or him. She’s just… Asking. Izzy frowns, thoughtful. 

“Yes. I’ve always known his secret. I just don’t understand why it upsets you so much. Most people have secrets, although they can’t hide them from me. I always know. I knew you were half fae too.” She says simply with a little smirk, like it’s a party trick. 

I blink. “Wait… You knew? You’ve been following me?” I demand. 

“Yeah.” She replies, completely unbothered.

“That’s it? Yeah? Can you tell me why?” I press. She shrugs, as if that question doesn’t require much thought.

“It’s just what I do. It’s what I’ve always done. It’s my job to watch when important things happen. And to remember them.” She answers. Watch and remember… A cold feeling crawls up my spine. The first prophecy I was given… She was there when it was delivered. Watching, silent. It hits me like a punch to the chest. The prophecy was never for me. It was for HER. 

“The Witness…” I whisper aloud. Isolde doesn’t respond. Doesn’t confirm. But she tilts her head a little to the side, a small secretive smile playing at her lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were following me? Or that Oz was lying?” I demand, a little too loudly. Dave wisely steps back.

“I don’t like to pick sides, I watch. I don’t mess with stuff. Everyone always thinks their side is the right one.” She says mildly. That oddly grown up response… An explanation that sounds ancient and rehearsed. She might look like a child, but there’s something impossibly old behind those eyes.

“And why me? Why follow me?” I ask, arms crossed, tired and trembling but not backing down. Her expression grows serious. 

“I’m drawn to whoever is hurting the most.” She says softly. 

“Or the one who has the potential to be hurt the worst.” She adds. Ouch. That’s… A grim explanation. It doesn’t bode well for me. I stare at her. Really stare. She just stands there, blinking back at me, ageless and small and utterly unreadable. Still, it doesn’t sound like she’s trying to be malicious. I think back to the prophecy. If she really is the Witness, the first half kind of makes sense?

*The Witness does not warn. She remembers too much.* 

*She does not turn the wheel, only watches it spin.* 

*She watches the end of every story, but never writes a word.* 

*She claims no side, but walks beside whoever bleeds the most.* 

It’s the second half that makes no sense, talking about stone shattering and stuff. And I think she has to choose something? I wonder if SHE realises that prophecy is for her?

“Just… Stay out of my bathroom.” I mutter finally, too emotionally spent to unravel it any further. She rolls her eyes. 

“I was never in there. Sometimes I watch through mirrors. And reflective surfaces.” She says as if that’s a totally normal thing to do. A beat. Oh. That explains a lot. The glimpses in the mirror. The backseat reflection. The feeling of being watched and turning around to find nothing. I never imagined the creepiness could be so literal.

“Well, that’s horrifying.” I say weakly. She beams. 

“Thanks!” She chirps. 

I open my mouth to ask something else, but she lets out a small huff. 

“I’m gonna go. I missed storytime TWICE this week because I was watching you.” She pouts. And just like that, she vanishes. No shimmer. No fanfare. Just gone, like fog evaporating from glass. Dave slowly leans in. 

“Sooo… Who the hell was that?” He asks. I wipe my face with my sleeve. 

“Honestly? I have no idea.” I answer honestly. 

The one silver lining to talking to Izzy is that it managed to short circuit my tears. It hasn’t stopped the ache, just the outward flood. My face still feels hot and puffy, and when I rub at my eye, I feel one of my contact lenses shift. Ugh. Gross. It slides somewhere off centre, making the world a little blurry on one side for a moment. It’s a stupid thing, but it tips me closer to falling apart again.

I need to pull myself together. Breathe. Focus. Think. But it’s hard, so hard, when everything inside me feels like a knotted, frayed mess.

I feel betrayed. That’s obvious. But the frustrating part is that I still WANT to forgive him. I want to pretend it’s not a big deal. I want to shove it aside and go back to that glowing, dizzy, heart racing feeling we had just this morning. I want to press rewind. Say, ‘It’s fine,’ and mean it. To just… Curl up with him on the couch.

I really WANT to forgive Oz, to say it doesn’t really matter, and it’s no big deal and can we please kiss and make up. Emphasis on the kiss. But I CAN’T. Because even if I DO forgive him, that doesn’t mean I can make myself trust him again.

That trust? He crumpled it like a piece of paper. And I don’t know how to un-crumple it without seeing every fold and tear he left behind.

And now I’m spiraling. Second guessing every moment we’ve shared. Every conversation. Every time he laughed or teased or touched me gently like I mattered. Was it real? Did I imagine it all? Was it all just a mask?

If he kept this from me, this massive, terrifying, life altering secret, then what else might he be hiding? Is anything he told me the truth?

And the worst part? I like Oz. No. I really, REALLY like him. This morning, I was half convinced I was falling for him. Maybe I already had. But now… Now I’m not even sure I know who he is. Who I’ve been falling for.

Was it the real Oz? Or just the version he wanted me to see? Because if I ever decide to forgive him, I’ll have to rebuild my idea of him from the ground up. I’ll have to include this new truth, that he’s someone who COULD keep something this huge from me. That he is someone who would let me fall for him knowing he wasn’t being honest. That he stood beside me, held me even, comforted me, and still didn’t come clean.

I don’t expect him to be perfect. Hell, I’m definitely not. But I’m just so confused.

If he HASN’T been lying about everything, then I already know I like Oz for who he is. He’s brave. Protective. Generous, in his own grumpy way. Wickedly funny and surprisingly domestic. He makes me feel seen. Comfortable. Like I can be myself in a way I’ve never felt with anyone else.

I guess what I have to figure out now is if I can forgive him… And if I DO forgive him, am I willing to let myself fall for him, and love him despite his flaws?

I don’t know. Not yet. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe I don’t have to decide today.

I might have been a little rash in sending Oz away, but maybe a little bit of time apart will do us good. When I’m ready, when I have my answer, I’ll find him again.

And at that point, I won’t be yelling because I’ll be ready to listen. Or to let go. Whichever truth I can live with.