Chapter 57: Chapter58 No one asked me if I wanted to survive
We were sitting under the tree behind the visitor's wing.
The boy from art camp — Elijah.
Now older. Still quiet.
But his silence wasn't empty.
It was the kind of silence you trust to hold your breath.
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> "Can I ask something?" he said, eyes on the sky.
I nodded.
Not ready.
But not running.
> "Did you want to make it?"
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That was it.
Not dramatic.
Not whispered.
Just the kind of question that peels skin from memory.
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I didn't answer right away.
Because the truth wasn't simple.
The truth had phases.
Versions.
Edits I made to keep living easier.
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> "Some days I did," I said finally.
"Other days… I just didn't want to be erased."
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He nodded. Slow.
Like that made perfect sense.
Like survival didn't always mean victory.
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> "They all talk like it was brave," I added, voice barely audible.
"But sometimes I wonder if it was just accidental."
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Elijah didn't speak.
Just sat there, the way people do when they know better than to rush grief.
Then, after a long pause:
> "I'm glad you stayed."
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Something in me cracked open.
Not a breakdown.
Not a sob.
Just this small, quiet ache that whispered:
> "So am I."
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Because even if I didn't fight to survive…
I was finally fighting to exist.
And that counts for something.