Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 50

**KACIA**

By the time I get home, something in me has changed. The hopeless, miserable ache in my chest has hardened into something sharper. Stubbornness. Determination. My heart still stings, sure, but now it's wrapped in resolve. I don’t want to cry anymore. I want to act. I’m filled with a restless sort of energy, I can’t sit still.

My eyes are itchy and sore from the drive home. I kept blinking against the sting the whole way, but it’s no use, contacts and crying do not mix. Apparently, slightly swollen eyelids don’t pair well with tinted plastic in your eyeballs.

I march into the bathroom like I’ve got a mission. I pull my first contact lens out and place it carefully into the case like I’ve done a thousand times before. The second one is halfway there when it hits me, really hits me. My secret’s out. The worst has already happened. The fae know I exist. They already want me dead.

Not to mention, Dave saw my ears. He knows too. And you know what, he didn’t explode or call the authorities or burn me at the stake. Sure, he’s not exactly normal either, but still, it means something. My big secret, really isn’t a secret anymore.

So what the hell am I even doing? Why am I still going through the motions, still playing the part of the human girl with the brown eyes? There’s no reason to hide this anymore. Not from the world. Not from myself.

I stare at the lens pinched between my fingers, and something in me snaps. With a small, defiant breath, I drop it back into the case. Then I drop the whole damn case straight into the little bin by the sink. Good riddance.

I look up. The girl in the mirror blinks back at me with lilac eyes, wide and unguarded. It’s such a small thing. The colour of my eyes doesn’t really mean anything. But it feels like the first breath of air after being underwater too long. It feels… Freeing.

If I’m going to live with purple eyes, I may as well own it. I can even get away with it around humans if I want to. I’ll just sell it as a bold fashion statement. Say I wear coloured contacts for fun now instead of hiding behind them. Humans are weirdly accepting of anything if you call it a trend.

But if I’m doing this, I’m really doing it. I reach for the box of hair dye buried under the sink and drop it in the bin too. Then I grab the shampoo. And then a clarifying rinse I got a year or so back when I decided to ‘refresh’ my hair before immediately dying it again.

Then, I start washing. One hour becomes two, becomes four. I scrub. I rinse. I condition and rinse again. I massage my scalp until it tingles and the tips of my fingers are wrinkled from steam and effort.

When I finally towel off, I’m back. My hair isn’t quite the full deep purple I was born with, but close enough. The faint brown dye still lingers through the roots and it covers up some of my more pink looking natural highlights, but now it just gives my hair depth, like intentional lowlights or something. It’ll fade out with time probably.

I stare at my reflection. Purple hair. Purple eyes. Slightly pointy ears poking out under damp strands. For the first time in forever, I look like me.

It’s strange. I don’t look safe anymore. I don’t look ordinary. I don’t look like someone who blends into a crowd. But maybe that’s a good thing. I’ve spent my whole life chasing safety. Blending in. Keeping quiet. And what has that gotten me? Nothing. A lifetime of lies. Paranoia. Secrets. Fear.

Well… I suppose it gave me a life of relative peace. But maybe it’s time to swap things up a little. Less peace, more honesty. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s loud. Even if it puts a target on my back.

Maybe the only way forward is through honesty, through claiming who I really am, even if I’m still figuring that out. I run my fingers through my damp hair and smile. It’s not a big smile. But it’s real. And for the first time in a very long time, I feel like I’m not pretending to be someone else. Not anymore.

Since I’m already halfway down the rabbit hole for this makeover, I figure, why not go all in? I grab the blow dryer and aim it at my freshly washed hair. It’s a little more effort than I usually make, but I’ve already thrown out my contacts, scrubbed out the lies, and declared war on dullness. Might as well finish what I started.

When my hair’s dry enough, I even try styling it. Not just the usual braids or buns designed to hide my ears, but something new. Something visible. The problem is, I don’t actually KNOW that many styles that aren’t strategically designed for secrecy. But I experiment anyway, tugging, twisting, fussing, and then reluctantly settling for something halfway decent that shows a peek of ear and doesn’t look like I lost a fight with a brush. It’s not perfect. But it’s me.

Next up, makeup. I haven’t worn more than the basics in months, but tonight? I go for a little extra. Just enough to highlight my eyes I’ve spent a lifetime hiding. To make them stand out instead of blend in. Just enough to remind myself that I’m still allowed to feel pretty, even when I feel like my heart’s a patchwork mess of cracks and questions.

When I’m done, I take a step back and look at myself in the mirror. Purple eyes. Purple hair. Half fae features soft and faint, no longer hidden. My eyeliner is a bit uneven on the left side, but I’m letting it go. I look more like myself than I have in years.

And also… Not. Because the truth is, I’m feeling a little out of control. Which is terrifying. I like control. I like everything neat and tidy and in its place. My hair. My ears. My carefully curated human illusion. My apartment, my wardrobe, even the contents of my fridge, they all obey rules.

I vacuum regularly. I fold my socks. My car doesn’t have so much as a gum wrapper out of place. It’s all part of who I am.

But now, for the first time, I’m standing in front of the mirror with no disguise. No barriers. No lies. And I don’t hate what I see. I DO look a little fae like, but I suppose that doesn’t matter, as long as I don’t ACT like one.

In fact, it’s almost… Liberating. I have more freedom now than I’ve ever allowed myself before. I get to choose how I present myself, how much I share, who I want to be.

Which brings me to a new problem, I’m all dressed up with absolutely nowhere to go. I mentally scroll through my options.

I could go see Mikey and Sarah, but… No. Mikey’s already given me that soft eyed, too patient look earlier. The one that says he knows something is wrong and he's already forming a plan to fix it with tea and dad jokes. I’m not in the mood to be handled gently. Not tonight.

I could go to the library. I have plenty of friends there, and it would be a good place to make my debut. The entire supernatural community would know I’m part fae before midnight. But let’s be honest, if there’s anywhere Oz might be licking his wounds tonight, it’s the library. And I’m not ready for that. Not yet.

What I want, what I need, is somewhere I can just be. Somewhere I can walk in with my purple eyes and my fae tinged blood and not apologise for either. Somewhere I can stand tall and say this is who I am, and no one gets to flinch.

But who even is that? A girl with control issues and trauma and questionable taste in men? Okay, rude, Kacia. Try again.

I am… Someone who speaks her mind, sometimes too loudly. I am someone who will go to war for her friends. I am someone who meddles in other people’s problems and fixes them. I am someone who stands her ground, even when her heart is breaking. And… I am someone who tries to do the right thing, despite my fae blood.

That’s who I am. And I know exactly where that girl is going to go tonight.

No more waiting around. No more quiet, cautious hiding. No more pretending to be less than what I am. Let them stare. Let them whisper. Let them wonder what’s changed. Let them meet me, and let it be on MY terms.

If I’m going to step into the magical world as my full, unapologetic self… I might as well make a scene doing it.