As soon as I place her in the back seat, she slides as far away as she can get, turning away from me as silent sobs begin to wrack her body.

It bothers me more than I ever could have anticipated to see her this way. I wanted her tears but not her complete destruction. Or didn’t I?

"Tell me what happened," I plead.

She barely turns to me, her jaw set, anger vibrating off her.

"What happened?" she asks incredulously. "Are you serious? You are what happened, Santiago! You pushed me past the point of what my body could handle with that display and then the mask. You knew exactly what you were doing. Don't act like you don't."

It occurs to me then that she's talking about her vestibular issues. And of course, in the back of my mind, I assumed there would be some limitations to what she could handle. But I didn't realize the severity until I saw it firsthand.

I wasn't thinking straight. But I should have been.

Dr. Chambers sent me her medical records as I requested. Not just his notes, but her entire file from all her previous visits to doctors within The Society. I read about her problems with balance and coordination. The vertigo. The stress-induced flares. Her father had taken her to the doctor, but he had done little else to help her after her diagnosis. There were things that could have been done. Things that should have been done. And now I am left to wonder why didn't they do them? Why didn't he hire the best physical therapist that money could buy to help her? Why didn't he seem to care enough about his daughter to make that minimal effort for the benefit of her health?

"Ivy." I reach for her hand, and she shoves me away.

"Don't," she warns. "I don't want to hurt you, but if you touch me right now, I will fight. I will scratch and claw until I draw blood if only to prove you are human."

Her words sting more than they should. It isn't like me to take demands from anyone, let alone my enemy. But right now, in the dim light of the car, she looks less like my enemy and more like my prisoner. I recognize that solemn expression well because I have seen it many times in my own reflection. I thought this was what I wanted, but now that I have witnessed it in her, I understand I couldn’t have been more wrong.

My hand comes to rest on the seat between us. Close enough to feel the warmth of her body, but far enough away to feel the arctic chill taking over her.

Without a doubt, I have fucked up.

And I wish she could hear the thoughts so loud in my head. The words unspoken, too proud to fall from my lips.

I'm sorry for it. More so than I have ever been.

27

Ivy