The Ascension

Chapter 14: Fractures Deepen

Ronnie didn't remember the drive home.

One moment she was standing in that white room, blood drying on her face, Mercer's voice echoing in her skull—"Again. Again. Again."

The next, she was pulling into her driveway.

The sun was setting. Golden light spilled across the neighborhood, warm and soft and completely wrong.

Everything felt wrong.

Ronnie sat in her car for a long time, staring at the steering wheel.

Her hands were still shaking.

She could still feel it—the rabbit's blood moving through its tiny veins, the frantic heartbeat, the moment it burst under the pressure of her power.

She'd killed seven rabbits.

Seven.

By the end, she'd stopped flinching when they exploded. Stopped apologizing. Stopped feeling anything at all.

That was worse.

Ronnie forced herself to get out of the car.

Her legs felt like lead.

She walked up the driveway, her movements mechanical, her mind somewhere else entirely.

The front door opened before she could reach it.

Her mother stood in the doorway, smiling—blonde hair pulled back, warm eyes crinkling at the corners.

"There you are," she said. "I was starting to worry. You look absolutely drained, you alright?"

Ronnie's throat tightened.

"Fine," she said.

Her voice sounded flat. Hollow.

Her mother's smile faltered slightly. "Are you sure, sweetheart? You look pale."

"I'm just tired," Ronnie said quickly. "It was... intense today."

Her mother stepped aside to let her in. "Do you want dinner? Your father made—"

"I'm not hungry," Ronnie interrupted. "I just... I need to shower."

Her mother frowned. "Ronnie—"

"I'm fine, Mom," Ronnie said, forcing a smile that felt like broken glass. "I promise. I just need to clean up and get some sleep."

Her mother studied her for a moment, concern flickering across her face.

But she didn't push.

She never did.

"Alright," she said softly. "If you need anything—"

"I know," Ronnie said. "Thanks."

She walked past her mother, past the living room where her father was watching TV, past the kitchen where the smell of dinner made her stomach turn.

She climbed the stairs to her room.

Closed the door.

Locked it.

And then she stood there, staring at her reflection in the mirror above her dresser.

Blood.

There was still blood on her neck.

Dried and flaking, dark red against her skin.

Ronnie's hands started shaking again.

She stumbled into her bathroom, turned the shower on as hot as it would go, and stripped off her clothes.

The water scalded her skin.

She didn't care.

She stepped under the spray and scrubbed.

Hard.

Her nails raked across her arms, her chest, her face—trying to get the blood off, trying to get clean.

But it didn't matter how hard she scrubbed.

She could still feel it.

The blood. The fur. The way the rabbit's body had ruptured under her power.

Ronnie scrubbed harder.

Her skin turned red. Raw.

The water ran pink at her feet.

She didn't stop.

She couldn't stop.

Because if she stopped, she'd have to think about what she'd done.

What Mercer had made her do.

What she'd become.

Eventually, the water ran cold.

Ronnie stood there, shivering, her skin burning, her chest heaving.

She turned off the shower.

Stepped out.

Wrapped herself in a towel.

And stared at herself in the mirror.

Dark circles under her eyes. Hollow expression.

She looked like a ghost.

She felt like a ghost.

Ronnie pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie, climbed into bed, and stared at the ceiling.

She didn't sleep.

She couldn't.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it.

The rabbit. Trembling. Squeaking.

The explosion.

Blood everywhere.

Mercer's voice: "Again."

Ronnie lay there for hours, her mind replaying the same images over and over and over.

By the time the sun started to rise, she still hadn't slept.

Monday morning arrived like a punishment.

Ronnie dragged herself out of bed, her body heavy, her mind numb.

She went through the motions.

Shower. Clothes. Makeup to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

It didn't help.

She still looked like she'd been hit by a truck.

Downstairs, her parents were in the kitchen.

Her father glanced up from his coffee. "Morning, mija."

Ronnie forced a smile. "Morning."

"Did you sleep okay?" her mother asked, setting a plate of toast in front of her.

"Yeah," Ronnie lied. "Fine."

Her mother didn't look convinced. "You look exhausted."

"I'm fine," Ronnie said. "Just... didn't sleep great."

Her father frowned. "Is everything alright with training?"

Ronnie's chest tightened.

"Yeah," she said quickly. "Everything's fine."

Her father studied her for a moment, his dark eyes searching.

But he didn't push.

He never did.

Because he didn't know.

He didn't know what Mercer was doing to her.

He didn't know about the rabbits.

He didn't know that his daughter was being turned into a weapon to protect him.

Ronnie picked at her toast, forcing herself to take a few bites even though her stomach was churning.

"I have to go," she said eventually, standing. "I'll see you guys later."

Her mother looked worried. "Ronnie—"

"I'm fine, Mom," Ronnie said. "I promise."

She grabbed her bag and walked out the door before either of them could say anything else.

Westridge High felt like a nightmare.

The hallways were too loud.

Too bright.

Too much.

Ronnie moved through them like a ghost, her head down, her hands shoved in her hoodie pockets.

People talked around her.

Laughed.

Lived.

She felt disconnected from all of it.

Like she was watching the world through a pane of glass.

In first period, she sat at her desk and stared at the board.

The teacher was talking about something—history, maybe—but Ronnie couldn't focus.

Her mind kept drifting.

Back to the white room.

Back to the rabbits.

Back to Mercer's cold, unfeeling voice.

By lunch, Ronnie felt like she was barely holding it together.

She sat at their usual table in the cafeteria, her tray untouched in front of her.

Peter arrived first, dropping into the seat across from her.

"Hey," he said. "You look like shit."

Ronnie didn't respond.

Peter frowned. "Ronnie?"

"I'm fine," she said quietly.

"You're not fine," Peter said. "You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"I'm fine," Ronnie repeated.

Peter opened his mouth to argue—

And then Aaron sat down next to her.

"Hey," he said, his voice warm.

Ronnie glanced at him.

He was smiling.

That stupid, oblivious, happy smile.

Because he didn't know.

He didn't know what she'd done yesterday.

He didn't know what she was going through.

He didn't know anything.

"You okay?" Aaron asked, his smile fading slightly. "You seem... off."

Ronnie's jaw tightened. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Aaron pressed. "You didn't answer my texts last night."

"I was tired," Ronnie said.

"Are you sick?" Aaron asked. "You look—"

"I said I'm fine," Ronnie snapped.

Aaron blinked, taken aback.

Peter raised an eyebrow.

Ronnie looked down at her tray, her hands clenched into fists under the table.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I just... didn't sleep well."

Aaron exchanged a look with Peter.

"Is everything okay?" Aaron asked carefully.

"Yeah," Ronnie said. "Everything's fine."

But her voice cracked on the last word.

Aaron leaned closer. "Ronnie—"

"I'm fine," Ronnie said again, her voice sharper this time.

Aaron didn't look convinced.

Neither did Peter.

But neither of them pushed.

They ate in silence.

Ronnie didn't touch her food.

After lunch, Aaron caught up with her in the hallway.

"Ronnie," he said, grabbing her arm gently. "Wait."

Ronnie stopped, her heart pounding.

Aaron stepped in front of her, his expression worried.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "And don't say nothing, because something is obviously wrong."

Ronnie's throat tightened.

"I'm fine," she said.

"You're not fine," Aaron said. "You look like you haven't slept. You're not eating. You snapped at me at lunch. What's going on?"

Ronnie looked away. "I'm just tired."

"Is it about the party?" Aaron asked. "About Katie?"

Ronnie's chest tightened.

"No," she said quietly.

"Then what?" Aaron pressed. "Is it training?"

Ronnie flinched.

Aaron noticed.

"It is training," he said. "What happened? Is Mercer pushing you too hard?"

Ronnie's hands started shaking.

She could feel it—the words building in her throat, desperate to get out.

He's torturing me. He's making me kill things. He's blackmailing me. I can't do this anymore.

But she couldn't say it.

She couldn't tell him.

Because if she did, he'd try to help.

And if he tried to help, Mercer would destroy her father.

And it would be her fault.

"Training's just... intense," Ronnie said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mercer's pushing me harder. That's all."

Aaron frowned. "How hard?"

"It doesn't matter," Ronnie said.

"It does matter," Aaron said. "If he's hurting you—"

"He's not," Ronnie lied.

Aaron didn't look convinced.

"Look," he said gently. "Why don't we skip training this afternoon? We can go somewhere. Talk. Figure this out."

Ronnie's eyes widened.

"No," she said quickly. "I can't skip training."

"Why not?" Aaron asked. "If it's making you this miserable—"

"I can't," Ronnie said, her voice sharp, panicked.

Aaron stepped back, surprised by her reaction.

"Ronnie—"

"I have to go," Ronnie said, her voice shaking. "I have to get to class."

"Ronnie, wait—"

But she was already walking away.

Aaron stood there, watching her go, his expression a mix of confusion and worry.

Ronnie made it three hallways before she had to stop.

Her chest was tight.

Her throat was burning.

Her vision was blurring.

She ducked into the nearest bathroom, locked herself in a stall, and sank to the floor.

And then she broke.

Silent sobs wracked her body.

Her hands shook.

Her chest heaved.

She pressed her fist against her mouth to keep from screaming.

Because she couldn't do this.

She couldn't keep pretending.

She couldn't keep lying.

She couldn't keep surviving.

But she had to.

Because if she didn't, her father would go to prison.

And it would be her fault.

Ronnie sat there for ten minutes, crying silently, her body shaking.

Then she forced herself to stand.

She wiped her face.

Took a deep breath.

And walked out of the bathroom.

She had three more classes to get through.

Then training with Mercer.

Then home.

Then another sleepless night.

And she'd do it all over again tomorrow.

Because she didn't have a choice.

She never had.

Aaron stood in the hallway long after Ronnie disappeared.

His hands were clenched into fists.

His jaw was tight.

Something was wrong.

Something was really wrong.

And Ronnie wouldn't tell him what it was.

Peter appeared beside him. "She's not okay."

"I know," Aaron said quietly.

"Do you know what's going on?" Peter asked.

Aaron shook his head. "She won't tell me."

Peter sighed. "She's shutting us out."

"I know," Aaron said again.

"So what are we going to do about it?" Peter asked.

Aaron didn't answer.

Because he didn't know.

He didn't know how to help someone who wouldn't let him in.

He didn't know how to fix something he couldn't see.

All he knew was that Ronnie was hurting.

And he was completely powerless to stop it.