—chapter eight.

❛ pseudea. ❜

THEY WERE ON A TRAIN.

There was something caught in her head, the last notes of a tune she couldn't remember the name of. It was something sweet, like the hug from a lover or the taste of hot tea poured by a caring mother's hand. She hummed lazily, trying to recall what it was...but the name and everything else escaped her.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She turned her head — or tried to, only her neck wouldn't go far enough for her to see the person sitting beside her. She could, though, feel someone's hand in hers. It felt nice. Familiar. Despite not knowing who's it was, she felt comfortable.

"I don't think my thoughts are worth any bit of money, love." The words spilled from her lips, but she didn't feel like she was actually saying them. Like maybe someone was behind her, pushing the words out of her esophagus and over her tongue, or she was just mouthing along to a recorded track. "Not even for a penny."

"Ah, but darlin' to me? Your thoughts are worth this train's weight in gold."

She smiled. Lipstick flaked across her parting lips. She darted her tongue across to collect any damage. "You're so cheesy — and for no reason, you know. You've already won my heart."

"And what a wonder that was."

"And not without trying."

Though she couldn't see the man beside her — for it had to be male, with the deep inflection to his honeyed tone — she could somehow tell he was smiling. "Nope, not without trying."

Vague images flashed in her head. Thoughts of a pair walking through empty streets, kicking at spare stones, or laughing over cups of tea in a tiny room patterned with rose wallpaper. Cheeky comments, raucous laughter, encouragement and denials and a giddy 'you're really something, aren'tcha?' in a voice that almost sounded like hers.

"Was it worth it, though?"

She giggled softly. Her hand curled closer to his. "Mm. Most days, yes."

"I — most days?! What's that gotta mean?"

"Well, some days I'm a little peeved because I said yes to a man who doesn't know how to wipe his dirty shoes off, and thinks he can just track it over my freshly cleaned floors like a—"

"—well hey, that was one time!"

"Three times, not one! And that's me being generous with ya!"

"It was definitely not more than twice," the void-faced figure argued back. "You and your dramatics!"

Her head shook, and curls of rich blonde slapped her cheeks. She liked how the honey strands looked in the late afternoon sunlight. She felt like the one beside her did, too, at least her mind told her there had been several instances of him praising her hair. He had said it complimented her eyes once, hadn't he? He'd called her something. 

Honey — honey something.

"What was that dumb nickname you conjured up for me, clever boy? My, my mind's slippin'."

"You need to let go."

That — that was a strange response for something like that. She frowned, turning her head and finding that finally, her neck would let her swivel enough to see—

—her hand was tightly entwined with blue-tinged fingers that, with every passing second, slipped down more and more. Her eyes followed the limb up to a man dressed in an army uniform clinging onto her and the train car they were sitting in. He was screaming something, or maybe someone else was screaming because could someone yell without having a mouth? Or any face at all?

He was completely faceless. Just a body, screaming as he hung over a void. 

"LET ME GO!" he wailed, or someone wailed, to her. "YOU NEED TO LET ME GO!"

Someone moved her head from side to side, some adamant disagreement. "I-I CAN'T!"

She didn't want to let him fall. He was a stranger, yet a part of her knew she'd rather fall herself, then let go of his hand.

"I'M DEAD. YOU CAN'T BRING ME BACK!"

"I-I CAN! I STILL HAVE YOU!" She tugged at his hand, trying to hoist him up. But it was no use. He was a fully grown man and she herself was starting to slip down the side of the sprung open train car. Snow blew into the compartment; hadn't it been a warm spring day, moments before!? She couldn't really remember, and slowly it felt like she had always been there, clinging to the side of a train car, screaming into the wind and careening snow blistering her skin.

Don't let him go, the wind screamed. Don't let him go, not again. Not again. You can't let me go again.

"I'm trying," she whimpered back, but her grip was slipping. It was getting harder and harder to see into the horrendous storm ripping around them. "I'm t-trying, I can..."

"YOU CAN'T SAVE ME," he screamed up at her. His voice was growing hoarser. His palm slipped slightly in her hold. "PLEASE. LET ME GO."

You did this before.

You can't fail me again.

"I can't fail you again," she cried. Though she doubted he could even hear her. "I'm not going to let go."

"PLEASE, JUST LET ME GO!"

"I can't," she panted. Tears froze mid-fall on her cheeks; she could feel them crystallizing, pulling at her fragile skin, but she couldn't even care. "Please, just...let me help..."

"LET ME DIE. LET ME DIE. LET ME DIE. LET ME—"

Mae cringed. She spat out the bile that had crept into her mouth, wiping her lips before meeting her reflection.

The woman staring back was dull. Her hair draped flat around her long, sallow cheeks, dragging her features down. Her eyes screamed exhaustion, and looked untasted by sunlight for what seemed like aeons. There was nothing vibrant or really alive about her appearance. That hadn't ever bothered her before.

But looking at herself now, shaking her head slowly and missing a strangely familiar swiff of curls slapping her cheeks, she felt like she was missing something. A colour, a smell, a feeling of something she used to wear...

"What was that dumb nickname you conjured up for me, clever boy? My, my mind's slippin'."

"Christ," Mae muttered to herself, looking away from the dour reflection. "Cut it out, Delacour."

And she tried. Though the feeling of loss wouldn't slip away, or the reminder of her strange, haunting dream, she carried on with her morning routine. She washed her tired skin and primped up her dead eyes, covered her dark circles with concealer and blushed her pale skin. She brushed her straight, thin hair and pinned it back as she did every morning, pulled perfectly against her head. She forced her aching legs through khaki slacks and shoved arms that didn't feel like hers into a black linen blouse. She ignored how the fabrics buzzed and burned against her skin like poison and carefully pinned the same earrings she always wore to her earlobes.

Her feet carefully slipped into her socks. She adjusted her blouse and pants, sighing for what felt like the umpteenth time. Something...something felt like it was missing.

Mae rolled her head on her neck. It didn't alleviate the weight resting on her shoulders, but she pretended like it did, anyways. "Get it together," she muttered to herself. "You're just fine."

She grabbed the loafers set out the night before and glanced at her phone that was not her phone. 

Maybe that was what felt different. You know...the whole disaster of the day before.

Mae shrugged and pocketed the device. Nothing she could do about it anymore.

"Hey, Mae-baby. How's it hanging?"

"Fine," she greeted, barely meeting Theona's eye. It felt wrong to give her even an ounce of excitement back, when she could barely consider who her friend really was. 

"You sleep okay? You sound tired."

Mae scoffed. She spoke before she could think, letting her wariness taint her words bitter. "You're really going to ask me that question?"

"I — right. Yeah. Shitty of me. I-I meant, like, you seem more tired than usual."

"Okay."

Mae turned to fiddle with the coffee machine, pouring as much as she could fit into her large thermos. She was going to need all the fuel she could fucking get, if she was going to get through this.

"Are we...okay, Mae?"

She sighed and continued with her actions. A part of her wanted to continue lashing out. To make Theo feel the frustration that she felt. But she wasn't an idiot, even if her roommate seemed to think otherwise. She had to play the long game.

"It's just me," she said quietly. Back turned, so she didn't have to see Theo right behind her, coffee-brown eyes digging into her spine. "Everything's stressing me out, and it's making me more tired than usual. Don't worry." 

Theo hummed. "If you're sure. And I'm sorry, really. That wasn't how I planned Sunday to go."

"Me neither. But it's fine."

"Well, I still feel bad. And I know it's not good for ya, to be under that stress—"

"—I'll survive," Mae cut in. She turned, still avoiding the other woman's gaze. "Just gives me more stuff to talk about in therapy. My parents will appreciate that."

Theo shuffled her feet. It seemed like she wanted to say something to that, probably something like, 'you're not going to talk about me or James, are you?', but it didn't leave her lips. Instead, she just made a little decisive humming sound and turned away. 

"I'll be ready in fifteen. And, oh, I'll be home early today! So we'll finally have the chance to start that list of movies up again. God, how long has it been since we had a good movie night?"

Her heart ached at how genuinely excited Theo sounded. There was nothing of the woman she had seen the past few days. Just good old Theona Chavez, who hated overtime and loved bad thrillers. Who made way too much popcorn, saying 'this time she really needs that much!' and then proceeding to eat leftover popcorn for breakfast the next day. 

But a good moment didn't excuse weeks of lies, Mae reminded herself. 

"I'm actually busy after work tonight." She waved a hand casually, or trying to be casual, though her fingers trembled. "Which means you don't have to play chauffeur for me tonight either, which is probably good."

"What? I, why?"

Mae shrugged and gulped down her bitter coffee. "I'm going to go to the library. I have some work to do, and I haven't been in a while. It's a nice, quiet environment."

The soft emphasis on 'quiet' didn't go unnoticed.

"What kinda work? Aren't you always done by fourth period? I-I mean," Theo gave a short, sour chuckle, "ain't that your thing? I don't want you to be taking on too much work, Mae."

She swallowed down her coffee, wincing as the hot liquid scalded the back of her throat. "I'm not. I just want to catch up on some stuff." She paused, then, "is that okay with you?"

"What? Yeah. Of course. You don't need my permission to do things, ha. I just...I worry about you. You know?"

"Well, you don't have to."

Theo laughed again. "That's what friends do. Can't get outta this now."

Friends...do friends lie? Live double lives? Have secret skills perfectly aligned with fixing bullet wounds? And have strange, sketchy cousins that are clearly not who they say they are? And weird technology issues that only happend since said cousin—

"I get that," Mae said. She tried to sound firm. "But, I'll be good. Just going to get some stuff done. I'll let you know when I'm coming home. Yeah?"

Theo didn't say anything for a long moment, and Mae could almost feel her raven-like gaze, pouring over her turned form. Searching for something. 

Finally, she spoke. "Yep. No sweat. Just keep me updated that you're not dead!"

"Of course."

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool..." Theo clapped her hands, and Mae finally turned to see her roommate with a big, fake smile plastered across her cheeks. "Sweet! I'll be back. Wheels up in ten!"

Mae just nodded, and followed her until she was out of sight. Slowly, she raised her cup to her lips and drank deeply. Once the cup was empty, she filled it up again, sealing a lid over it that time.

She glanced over to the hallway, with the same closed door as always. A part of her, a frivolous, desperate for normalcy part, wondered if James liked the clothes. If he cared at all.

Mae set her mug down and turned back to the coffee machine. She poured another full, steaming mug. There was no point for milk or sugar; if he wanted some, they'd be out in ten. He could grab some himself. Considering she didn't even know how he took his coffee...

"Whatever," she muttered, carefully heading over to the closed door. She placed the mug on the floor outside. Hesitantly, she knocked. "Um. James? Here's coffee. If you'd like some. And — there's food in the pantries. If you're hungry." If you even eat, because so far there's been no evidence of that.

Mae stood there a long moment, before sighing and padding back into the kitchen.

"Probably pointless," she sighed. "And a waste of good coffee."

But at least her conscious would be a little happier.

SO, CONSIDERING HER LAPTOP WAS BROKEN (or whatever the case, in Theona's hands), Mae had to rely on the library computers to help her out. Which really made her want to donate more to the library, because every single time it took five minutes just for the damned thing to load one page —

Mae kind of hated technology. And she was pretty certain it hated her guts too.

What made it worse was that her research on the golden boy of America was taking her nowhere. She'd printed page after page of information (probably making the library staff despise her, too) but it was all worthless. There was nothing bad about Steve Rogers. Why would their be? All he had ever done was good. And that's all that anyone had to say on him.

Even his childhood yielded nothing. No talk on him like, purposely stepping on worms or littering or shoplifting. No, little Steven sounded like an angel, from the testimonies of people who knew him. A scrawny little kid with a bleeding heart, who hated bullies. He babysat the neighbourhood babies for parents who needed to work and didn't ask for pay, just took a good meal. He defended anyone he could, even if he looked like the slightest breeze could bowl him over. Apparently, he had even saved a kid's life at the mere age of eleven.

Mae glared at the paragraph, swooning over young Steve's heroics. Some toddler had run into the streets after escaping his sister's hold, and was oblivious to the car coming his way. Lucky for little William Gardner, there was good old Steve Rogers to scoop him up.

"Spare me," she scowled, "'course you've all got stories to tell now. Fifteen minutes of fame."

She clicked off her current page — 'What is Captain America's Next Big Move?' and returned to the search bar. Clearly, none of it was going to yield what she was looking for. All the Peggy Carter's and William Gardner's could say what they wanted, and she could still feel the prickling feeling on the back of her neck when someone said the 'hero's' name. No one else seemed to feel the same way.

Well, except for some site called 'Reddit'. But that seemed...untrustworthy.

She circled Peggy's and William's name for later.  Notes littered the page around them, reminders for later. Plans. William Gardner seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth, but Peggy Carter was at least a tangible source. And she was still alive, which meant a possible lead. But, for now...

Mae slowly typed, cringing at how long it took to find each key. It took forever to spell out 'T-H-E-O-N-A-C-H-A-V-E-Z', but eventually she got there, clicking to see what the internet had for her.

And...it wasn't much. A LinkedIn with her familiar cock-eyed smirk grinning back at Mae. All the information tracked. Bachelor's degree from Columbia University. Various jobs in New York, before she moved to Washington. Her current position sat at the top, Senior Purchasing Manager at...blah blah blah. It all tracked.

Going back didn't give much, either. Theo didn't use social media, but her various family members had tagged her in multiple posts. Childhood pictures, birthday parties, weddings...normal things. Mae cursed and clicked back again.

'Columbia University Celebrates 2011 Graduates'

'Washington Decides on New Infrastructure Plan'

'Corporal T. Chavez Recognised for Bravery in Rescue...'

"Wait...what?" Mae murmured, pausing her scrolling. She clicked on the link, assuming it was going to be some other 'T. Chavez' who came up with her broad search. But as the page loaded up, little by little, she was met with the a much younger, stern faced Theo saluting what she could only assume was a higher officer.

She bit her lip, scrolling down.

"Corporal Chavez was one of many involved in a rescue mission into enemy lines. But was one of few who survived, and brought back the taken soldiers. Included photograph Sargent..." she trailed off. The details didn't interest her much. Army lingo meant little to her. But the fact that Theo was in the army did. Not to mention, her never saying a thing about it, despite it looking like a monumental part of her life.

Mae clicked back, returning to the search back. Tongue in cheek, she began to type. C-O-R—

"Madeleine? Is that you?"

There was no mistaking that voice. Nor was there a chance of pretending she didn't hear, because in seconds, there were tiny footsteps marching behind her, hurrying to swoop into Mae's beloved bubble and cry hello.

"Madeleine! What a surprise!"

Mae hid her frown behind her finger, gesturing for the ever-smiling Diana Merritt to quiet down. "Library, Diana."

"Ooh. Sorry!" She said in a stage whisper to those around her, seemingly unseeing their glares. Diana plopped herself into the seat beside Mae — why did there have to be a free seat?! — and grinned. "How ya doing, sweetpea?"

"I'm fine." Mae hesitated, trying to figure out a way out of the conversation. "Um, how are you?"

"Mm, good! Say, fancy seeing you here! I was just looking for a book Ben recommended, and then I see your famous curls, and knew I had to say hello!"

Mae squinted. That was...well, it had been a while since she had talked to Diana Merritt. People could change. But as far as Mae remembered, Diana had never enjoyed reading. Or libraries. Didn't she once call them 'silent doom holes for my happiness'?

"Ah," she said simply. "Um, I didn't know you were getting back into reading."

Diana laughed too loudly for the quiet space. "You say that like I could ever stop, dearie."

And instantly, alarm bells went off inside Mae's head.

Her ears pounded, like floods of blood were pressing against her drums, waiting to gush out and drown her senses. She sort of felt like she might burst.

Diana's face didn't shift at all. There was no evidence of a lie on her pretty pink, plump cheeks, or in the always twinkling eyes of hers. No, she looked exactly the same as ever.

Maybe Mae was remembering wrong. It had happened before. Too many times to count.

"Mm. Of course. How could I forget."

"No hard feelins," the other woman chirped back, "it's been a while! No need for you to remember all the things I ramble on about."

Mae smiled thinly and said nothing. Her hands unraveled and twisted up again, knotting on her lap. 

"But let's not talk about me," Diana giggled out, "how've you been? What's got you here today?"

Carefully, Mae rested her elbow on her pile of papers and her palm fit her chin. She slid the pile a little nearer to her. "Just catching up on things."

In the ever Diana way, which was pretending to know what subtlety was but failing miserably, she raised a brow and leaned in. "Ooh. 'Things'? Sounds fun. Is it fun things?"

"Just work."

"Oh." Disgruntled, the woman flopped back in her chair. "Lame. D'ya ever do anything not-work related, Mae?"

She shrugged. "I'm a pretty boring person, I suppose."

"Ah, no you're not! You're just too quiet; you're not meeting the right people. Which, oh that reminds me of..."

And Diana began to go on, and on, in the way Mae knew too well. Which was fine enough. Kept the woman distracted as she finished up. 

Her head was starting to hurt from staring at a computer screen too long, and she had enough of a foundation to start with. Vague names from Steve Rogers heroic childhood, and confusing moments from Theo's...second life, apparently. That was more than enough for her to deal with that night.

Mae started to tidy up her space, sweeping her papers into her bag. She clicked out of the search engine and moved to shut down the computer (which took an embarrassingly long time...only because she couldn't remember where the 'power off' button was).

"Sorry, Diana," she cut in after what felt like forever. A part of her did feel a little bad; Diana always seemed pretty lonely. Needy of someone to talk to. But she was also probably a liar, and Mae had had enough of enabling liars. She needed a break.

"Hm?"

Mae stood up, patting her bag. "I've got to start heading out now. I, em...need to go make some dinner up."

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you!"

"You didn't," she said gently. "I would love to stay in chat, but we both know Theona's gifts in the kitchens."

"Yes," Diana said very seriously. "'Course. Well, it was lovely seeing you! I hope we can catch up again soon — maybe coffee, sometime?"

As fucking if. "Sure. Sounds nice. Enjoy your reading, Diana."

The woman tilted her head a little, pausing before, "oh! Yes. Thanks! I'm looking forward to it."

"Enjoy."

"You too! Be safe, have a good night!" 

Mae nodded and turned away, heading towards the exit doors.

She heard chairs scrape behind her, but she didn't look back to check where Diana was heading. If she was going to the rows and rows of shelves or elsewhere. Maybe it didn't really matter.

Her night was going to be long, no doubt. Not because of any work left; Theo was right. She'd finished everything fourth period. But her head was going to be a wreck tonight. More than it already was. Mae wasn't confident she would sleep at all. Not with the dark truths literally at her fingertips, waiting.

"Christ," she muttered, massaging her temple with one hand. "Never a break, eh Delacour?"

Mae left the warmth of the library and breathed into the cool air of the outside. It soothed her aching bones some, and the quiet breeze was a nice comfort, tickling its fingers through her lifeless hair.

Maybe she should get out more. It was always nice, to walk around. Why didn't she do it more — aside from being forced to be around people, it was pretty okay.

She sighed and took a couple steps out of the way of the library doors. Her hands found the clasp of her bag and opened it, reaching for the papers she'd stuffed inside. One of those names sounded familiar. One of the many, many eager individuals discussing Captain America's bleeding heart. Not familiar in the sense she thought she actually knew one personally, but considering her history degree, she might know a bit more than just what the internet said.

"Let's see," she mumbled, flipping through the pages. "Um..."

She rifled through her slim stack. Everything shifted, swiping through fake smiles and blaring headlines and that godawful face of 'America's Savior' that made her want to vomit, and—

"—it's not here," left her lips in a panicked hiss. She shuffled through the papers again, then again to make sure. Everything had been stacked in order, all articles grouped together, everything in their place. Mae was damn good about organisation; she'd know if she screwed up.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit!"

She glanced around wildly.

No paper to be seen.

The names. The testimonials. Someone swiped her list. Someone had to have, she didn't leave anything behind. She wouldn't. All those damn names, circled and noted, just for anyone to take from her. 

Her ears ached worse, overwhelmed and assaulted from all sides. 

Her gut churned, and even more panic, white-hot and branding, trickled down her spine. 

Not just anyone. 

It wasn't just anyone.

You're not stupid, Madeleine. You know what's happening.

Someone specific took it. Someone who lied badly to cover up their true goal, someone who knew her and her roommate well. Someone who—

"—OH!"

Someone in red polka dots barreled right into Mae. Both women staggered back. Mae stumbled on the library steps, barely catching herself from tripping on the slightly raised lip.

"I-I'm so sorry, love! I—oh, hey Mae! I didn't know—"

She could have been saying anything. It didn't matter. All Mae cared about was the single leaf of printer paper clutched in one of Diana Merrit's fists, waving slightly in the breeze. A paper Diana did not have when she sat down.

Her senses pricked. The wind picked up, whistling around her shaking form. Maybe she should just let it whisk her away; it'd be easier, than this awful realisation.

But you can't run, her brain reminded her. You have to see this through. You deserve that.

"You," Mae whispered, staring at the paper. The wind brought it to her feet. She picked it up to examine closer, all the notes she'd made, the names she had circled. "I should've...known..."

Diana paused her apology. She cocked her head like a lost puppy, "beg your pardon?"

"You were following me. Trying to figure out my motives." Mae mostly spoke to herself, like a detective unravelling a case with a half-wound brain. "I knew it...knew there was..."

"I...um. Pardon? Again?"

Mae snorted bitterly. "Can't let me do anything, can she? Wow. That's, that's... I didn't think she'd be going this far, but I guess that's just my life, now. Should've figured."

Diana stared at her in a...well, not in the way Mae expected. She looked more confused than anything, and a little scared, judging by the way her feet shuffled ever so slightly back. "I'm not sure I'm following, sweetpea."

"You know what I'm talking about." Mae strode forward, letting her fury egg her voice higher, harsher. The little voice holding her brain hostage cooed encouragement. 

Push. 

She's trouble. 

Make her confess. 

"Theo's put you up to this. She's paid you, or given you something. Right? She doesn't want me to know more. Or she needs me followed, so I don't go too far."

"M-more? About what, honey?"

Playing stupid. That's what that was. Yeah, Mae wasn't going to be so naïve anymore.

"It's no mistake you took that page, is it? There's something on it you don't want me to see. Theo doesn't want me to know the truth. But guess what, Diana? I'm not stupid anymore. I'm waking up. I know that I'm being played."

"M-mae, I don't—"

"—god, stop fucking LYING TO ME!" Mae hissed. Her fists rose high above her head, one clutching onto her single leaf of paper, then fell. "EVERYONE FUCKING LIES! STOP!"

Her ears felt hot.

Something ached. Some moral compass abandoned with the voice's encouragement.

Maybe —

— no. She did this.

You know the truth. 

She wants to hurt you. They all do.

You know who's behind this.

Theo, Mae thought back to her voice of logic. Theo's doing this.

The voice wavered at that. It didn't like that suggestion. But —

"Mae!"

"Why did you take this," Mae snarled, rising onto her toes. She waved the paper in Diana's face, reveling in how the woman flinched. "What was the point? Who's in on this?!"

Diana Merrit had practically folded in on herself, huddled inside her pretty red peacoat. The left collar of said coat had turned into a tissue for her leaking eyes, slowly soaking darker than the rest of the coat. She stared at Mae in a sort of questioning fear, like she couldn't quite understand what was going on.

She sniffled loudly. "I'm sorry. You had just left t-this there. I just thought I'd t-try to catch you? Or toss it, if not."

"Bullshit."

"What? W-why would I lie about it?"

"Because you're hiding something?!"

"What would I want with this?" Diana asked. "I-I am so lost right now, honestly! I don't know what you're going on about!"

"Bullshit," Mae repeated, though she wavered slightly. "You — you're —"

Diana sighed and cut her off. She glared at Mae through glassy eyes. "I don't know what's wrong with you, Mae, but this I'm not doing this with you."

Excuses.

Lies.

Diana stepped further away. Her face was tomato-red at that point, glowing and tear-strewn. She looked nothing like the giddy soul that had bounced into the library an hour earlier. She looked traumatized, and terrified out of her wits, and mad at Mae, like it was her fault.

"You know," she said slowly, wiping at her weepy eyes, "I've tried so hard with you, Mae. Everyone else always called me a fool for sticking with ya, for trying when they knew you didn't want to be friends, but I tried. I wanted to help you. I wanted to be there for ya."

Diana sniffled again.

"But I guess they were right, in staying away. In saying 'oh, one day you'll see why'. T-this is... there's something so completely fucked up about you. Isn't there? There's...you're not okay. I thought you were getting better, but I-I guess you can't just fix people that easily."

Mae blinked, trying to take in her words. That...wasn't what was supposed to happen.

I thought you were getting better.

She glanced down at the paper in hand. She could have sworn it wasn't left behind. But...

"I hope someday, you get the help you need. And I hope you're happy. B-but," Diana choked out a dry laugh-sob, "I hope you also know, you're not a very nice person. At all. And you need to learn how to treat people with kindness."

A couple of people had stopped to watch them fight. Mae could see them in her peripherals; strangers, watching the show with big, curious eyes. Watching the crazed woman scream over a single piece of paper. A misunderstanding.

Someone cold and horrible washed over her. Guilt. Of all the stupid things she could do, she chose to scream and completely terrify poor Diana Merrit, one of the few people who had ever treated her with kindness. Sure, the woman was annoying, and never noticed social cues too well — but that didn't make her a villain. 

She just wanted to help. Like always. Because Diana Merrit was a good fucking person.

"I'm sorry," Mae said quietly. Shame dug its cold fingers into her heart. "I-I didn't mean to, Diana. I really..."

Diana just shook her head and turned away. In a blur of sniffles and red polka dots, she hurried down the library steps and into the throngs of passing people.

Mae looked at the paper. It didn't seem so important anymore.

Maybe she's right, she thought glumly. The voice in her head cried its protests, but Mae ignored it. Maybe I'm just...there's someone screwed up about me. Maybe I was put back together wrong.

Carefully, Mae headed down the same steps Diana rushed off of. Only, she turned the other way, hurrying down and away from the commotion she'd just caused. Murmurs echoed around her, but she tried to ignore them, paying more attention to the thrumming in her fingertips and the drumming deep in her ears.

Maybe she should call Abigail later. Abigail could help.

Abigail would know what to do.

Abigail would know what was wrong with her.

But does she really? the little voice asked, concerned. Do you know that for sure?

Mae didn't know what to think about that.

PSEUDEA: in Hesiod's Theogeny, he cities Pseudea as one of many Amphillogiai, goddesses of disputes and altercations. They were the daughters of only Eris, Goddess of Strife; Hesiod claims this to be through parthenogenesis. Amongst her sisters, Pseudea was the deity of lies.

PARTHENOGENESIS: a type of asexual reproduction, where a embryo(s) grows and develops without fertilization. In Greek Mythology, this is simply described as reproduction without sexual intercourse. This was a common theme in Hesiod's writing for the Gods, usually cited to be because of a lack of sexual partners. Aside from Eris, another famous instance was when Zeus produced Athena out of his own head.

You know what's so funny? I've started using my little sister as an indirect beta reader. She doesn't know it's me but I've been reading this to her, just to get an outside opinion. Which sounds weird, but it...well, it definitely is weird. But it's fun. Shoutout to her.

Anyways. I stopped writing this for a while, just for my own mental health and bc I was struggling with Mae's portrayal. But hopefully, semi-regular updates will resume again. We're halfway through part one, now, and Mae's taking a real dive into her psyche. Poor girls losing it a little. And is a little dumb. But that's okay. Aren't we all?

Thank you for reading; let me know what you thought.

REWRITTEN: o6/1o/22.