Fallout

Point of View : Ren

I woke choking on air. 

The surroundings was too bright. The cold cuff restraints dug in into my wrists, sending panic straight into my nerves.

“No—no—get off!” I thrashed blindly, chest heaving, wrists seared by the cuffs.

The door slammed open.

“Ren!” Specter’s voice hit like a whip crack, sharp, furious, already fraying.

I turned, barely seeing through the blur.

She looked wrecked. Her bandages freshly placed already stained with blood, Her eyes was flamed in fury yet still showing empathy.

“You want to kill yourself so bad you’d force me to stop you instead?!”

She was shaking. From pain. From rage. From something deeper.

I stammered. “I–I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean it?” she barked. “You think that matters?! I had to knock you out—Ren! I had to choose between hurting you or burying you!”

I shrank into the bed, breath chopped and wild.

Then Mirelle shoved past her, fast and cold.

“Good morning,” she said flatly. “You’re lucky to still have one.”

I stared at her.

Her eyes were blazing. Controlled fire. No softness. "So, Ren. Why did you try to shoot yourself?"

My voice faltered. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Bullshit,” she snapped. “Your hand was on the weapon. You knew what you were doing."

Specter’s knuckles were white at her sides. Mirelle crossed the room, pulled out a vial, slammed it onto the table.

“This is for sedation. If you even try to do anything stupid again, ill use it."

My stomach turned.

“You’ve got questions?” Mirelle said. “Here’s one, why did you not ask for help before this?”

“I didn’t want to die.” I croaked.

Specter moved suddenly, I could see the pain from her eyes. “Then why the hell did you reach for the gun?”
“I don’t know.” I hated how broken my voice sounded. “I wasn’t thinking—I just—I wanted it to stop.”

“And you think taking your own life is going to fix your problems?,” Mirelle said. “If you did succeed, you think we'd just forget about you and move on with our own lives like it was nothing?”

“No!” The restraints clanked as I thrashed. “I didn’t mean that—I swear—I just couldn’t—”


“Couldn’t what?” Specter snapped. “Talk to me? I thought you were handling everything fine, So tell me Ren. Why?”

Her voice was shaking harder than mine.

“I tried to talk—”

“You lied.”

I stopped breathing.

“You smiled like you were fine. You kept going. You made me think I didn’t have to worry.” She swallowed hard.      

“I let my guard down. And you exploited it.”

Something tore loose in my chest. 

I blinked through the sting, heart slamming too loud.

Specter turned, walking halfway to the door. Her shoulders were trembling.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I can’t watch you crumble in those restraints.” 

I reached out instinctively—and the restraint jerked me back.

She paused, hand on the frame. Mirelle didn’t speak.

And for one terrifying second, I thought Specter was going to leave.

But she turned instead. Slowly.

Her eyes met mine, and they were a battlefield.

“You tried to hurt youself,” she said. “But you’re still breathing, so I’ll hurt too."

She walked out.

Mirelle quickly stepped forward.

“You get one chance,” she said. “To be honest. Start talking.”

Mirelle didn’t wait for me to explain.

She didn’t sit. She didn’t soften.

She stormed forward with a look I’d never seen from her. A kind of rage that only came from watching someone you care about unravel by inches while standing helpless beside them.

“You think this is just about you?” she said, voice low and slicing.

“I didn’t mean to drag anyone else into it,” I muttered.

She laughed once—sharp and cold.

“Specter is bleeding. Because of you.”

My breath stalled.

“You didn’t just scare her, Ren. You shattered her.” 

Mirelle pointed to the restraints. “She tied those herself. With half-torn muscles and hands that shook so badly she could barely hold the restraits properly.”

I tried to speak. I couldn’t.

“She sat beside you for hours, Ren. After knocking you out. Crying like the world owed her an answer it refused to give.”

“She didn’t have to—”

“She always does!” Mirelle roared. 

“Because you won’t let anyone else help!”

Her boots slammed against the tile as she paced.

“You broke down? Fine. That happens. But attempting to shoot yourself in front of Spectre? That's insane!"

Specter hadn’t come back.

I felt myself collapse inward.

“You know what she said to me?” Mirelle hissed, eyes narrowing. “She said she was scared of sleeping. Because she might miss the sound of you trying again.”

That gutted me.

“She walks like she’s being held together by threads. She barely eats. She won’t let me treat her properly. Because she keeps saying, ‘Ren might need me.’”

Mirelle slammed both palms onto the counter near my bed.

“She relied on you for company, and you tried to leave.”

Silence.
Just the sound of my breath, fractured and trembling.

Everything was noise in my head—guilt, shame, grief, grief, grief.

My hands shook. I wanted to disappear into the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You said that already,” Mirelle replied.

 “Now prove it.”

...

I don’t know how long I’d been crying.

Quiet, ugly tears. Not loud enough to echo. Just enough to sting.

Specter had came back after what felt like an eternity, still wouldn't speak to me she would just whisper things to Mirelle ever so often.

Meanwhile Mirelle paced like she was walking herself away from what she really wanted to say.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” I muttered. “Or… to trust me again. I wouldn’t.”

“You’re right,” Mirelle snapped. “We don’t.”

I nodded, then shook my head, uselessly. “I didn’t know how to stop the weight. It just kept pressing down. Harder. Louder. I thought maybe if I disappeared…”

Then she suddenly spoke. “If you dissappeared? Did you even think of the aftermath?" Specter’s voice was hoarse, like she just finished crying. "What would your parents say? Your classmates?"

"Did you even think about how I would feel!?"

I flinched.

“I didn’t mean—”

“But you did.” She looked at me, finally. “That’s the part that wrecks me.”

I turned toward her. My hands tugged against the cuffs again, just to feel something grounded.

“I hate this version of me,” I whispered.

“No one asked you to be perfect,” Mirelle said. “We asked you to stay.”

Specter rose shakily to her feet, every movement slow and painful. She crossed the room, stopped just far enough that I couldn’t reach her.

“I’ll unlock you once I know you won’t try again,” she said. Her voice was cold.

I couldn’t blame her for being scared.

That just shows how much she still cared for me.

Even after everything.