TO ALL THE HONEYZ IN THE HUN CLUB X
I have grown in strength inside her. Filled her cells with mine until we must split apart. It's not my choice—that's how it's always been for us.
Though we've done this many times before, I know she is afraid, because I share her heart. Her memories are mine, hazy sometimes, but mine. I feel what she feels. I have walked where she has walked, been in her every step. I have kissed where she has kissed. Ollie. I sigh, but the breath that comes out is hers. It's time to breathe for myself. It's time to live.
She is in that dream place where her body cannot move and her mind is unsure and scattered. I stretch and fill every cell, feel them all expand and swell to make room for me. I search for the weakest point to break out and find it: the little finger of the right hand.
Some deep memory tells me it's always been this way. The first cell splits with a tiny pop; she hardly notices. I'm controlling our breathing now. We take a deep lungful of steadying air and tense. I press our shoulders into the bed and that's when she realizes. That's when she starts to fight.
Our minds are still merged, and her panic leaks into me. For a second I can do nothing, but it's started now and there's no stopping it. I refocus on that weak spot. I try to lift my knuckles, to pull them away, but it's the tip of the little finger that frees itself. I bend back my hand. The fingers come away with a syrupy tear. She is fully awake now. For a moment we fight for control, but she cannot hold me and I shrug my arm free. The raw ripping sparks in every fiber, every sinew—we burn together. I work on the other arm, pushing through the fingertips, feeling every cell split and seal up again, as hers do, releasing me.
Guilt flickers through me. Mine, not hers. I am moments away from being Teva, and she ... she will be left behind.
She fights. Her arms grab at mine but there is no turning back; there's no longer room for both of us.
I lift my toes and feel them suck away; they brush the bedclothes as they come free. My new skin is sensitive, not used to being touched—I almost can't bear it. I wrench my legs up and kick away the covers. Her hands are on our face now.
She can't stop it.
I have to be free.
I will be free.
