Untouchable by Marii Solaria

Chapter 4 – Agonizing Guilt

“Maybe there’s more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time.“–

Veronica Roth

Present Time

“You would have been best friends with her wolf, Artemis.” Sizzling pain swam through my heart, caging in a prison of agony. That was one of my favorite moments I shared with Nuria two months before she died. We had plans for our future. We had plans once we shifted for the first time. Our lives were made for us! “You and Angelika would have been as close as sisters…like we were.”

“Oh, Kiya…” Artemis spoke softly. Her voice caressed me as hot tears swam down my cheeks. Each droplet carried a “what–if; what if Nuria was still alive? What if the rogues never came? What if I had listened to Steven? What if we had shifted together? What–if after what–if splashed on the ground near my toes, disintegrating into tiny droplets of broken dreams.

A broken future.

“Her death wasn’t your fault. I would have loved to meet Angelika, but that’s not possible. You miss her terribly; I can feel it from your heart. That’s a beautiful memory you have of her. Treasure that.”

“But Artemis… I took that from you. I took Angelika from you. I never gave you the love of a close friend like Nuria had given me. We’ve been friends since we were in the crib. She made me happy, and how did I repay her? By selfishly pulling her into my adventure, forgetting rogue sightings. They tore her away from me and I watched her get mauled to death. I couldn’t do anything! I couldn’t…!

All the pain I thought I solved overflowed from its burial chambers like a clogged sink; the fluidity of agony filling me faster than air. No matter how hard I try, the guilt eats me like. Gobbling my heart with its sharp teeth piercing and tearing at each chamber. Many years after Nuria’s death, I still feel responsible. The misplaced blame of the angel’s death is not misplaced when I’m unable to free myself from its tormenting

hold.

It killed me daily with every memory I have of Nuria. For my sake, I tried to push those memories away. Bu

the silkiness of her ebony tresses, the golden hue of her skin, the sparkling cerulean of her eyes, and her

reach out hoping to touch an ember of warmth, only to be met with a blade of deep–seated guilt slicing

actions that day. I wish I was buried in the cemetery while. she and her mother lived their best lives. Perhaps Luna Essie would have birthed more children or Nuria would have found her mate or went off to college. The future set up

up and bile rising to my throat. Tears continue to bucket down my eyes, burning my cheeks with their searing heat. Why do I deserve this life? These avatar powers? This status as a

at me with love despite the knowledge that I’m the last person to see his for and mother alive? They were killed while I helplessly watched. It’s me, still alive and breathing while they lay cold six feet underground”

only nine

come with me? Why did I make that choice to be daring and adventurous? Why did I

deserved the beatings. I deserved the starving, I deserved the neglect.

didn’t care who heard me. My pain is punishing me for a decade–old sin, and I deserved

how long I med I didn’t know how many tears I’ve shed over this memory of my best friend and my self-bred in the involvement of their passing. Suddenly, a powerful scent of sandalwood and ginger clouded my nose, burying in the crook of a neck. My throat burned with sobs and my sinuses sunk into

his family picture to my chest, he expresses love. Concern, Care. All for

woman

rubbed circles on my arm

into my hair. “You didn’t kill them. It was never your fault Stop blaming yourself, please.”

retorted. “It’s because of me Nuria’s

the blame, Kiya. He killed them, not you. You didn’t know what would happen. Kya, you were a child. A child who wanted to have

Grief and anger blinded me. I lost my mother and my sister, and it hurt it hurt so bad, and I hurt you because of it. I never took your word and branded you as a murderer. If Kwame hadn’t slapped me in the face with evidence, and if I didn’t hear it from the mouth of my wretched

years of terror.”

eyes. Goddess, I must look like an absolute mess because he has tears beginning to fall on his handsome face. The urge to reach up and wipe then away is

I resisted

past. It won’t change that I’ve raised my