Page 48 of The Bully Alien

"You've had a therapist," I guess. "Why? Because of..."

"Because of what?" Delana snaps.

I've pissed her off. I'm hurting so badly that I don't care that I'm hurting her.

A shitty move on my part, I know, but I can't help it.

"For years, all I did was want to return home. It was all I thought about. I hoped gain enough knowledge and money and agency to figure it out myself. I'm not an engineer, not by Grollian or Earthling standards, but I tried anyhow. Tried and failed, and I'm worthless. My life is forfeit."

"Your life can still have meaning," she argues.

"No, it can't. I couldn't protect my people against the Xarillians. As a result, I wasn't there for them when they needed me the most. Neither of my parents were fighters, but Franx had been able to keep a line of communication open with another friend who fought the Grots, and my parents, one a scientist and the other an artist, climbed into fighter ships. They strove to kill the Grots. They shouldn't have had to. I'm a fighter. I should've fought for them. I should've saved them."

"You didn't fail," she says softly.

"The fuck I didn't," I growl.

17

Delana

I'm not sure when it happened, and it probably doesn't matter when so much as the it happened at all, but Wyatt and I don't have to be enemies. We haven't been for a bit now, and I don't think either of us really realized it.

"There has to be some way I can help you," I say, "even if it's not related to the ship."

"There's nothing you can help me with," he snaps, physically pushing me away from him. "You couldn't even help yourself."

I stiffen. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, I saw that you have more scars than just the one on your face."

I say nothing.

"Those were self-inflicted," he says. "You hurt yourself enough to delve a physical scar. If you can't stop yourself from doing that, what can you do?"

I lift my chin. "You can go ahead and try to put me down, but I don't care. You're hurt, so you're lashing out. Say what you will. Go ahead and let me be your punching bag. I can take it. I've heard it all before."

He scowls and looks away.

I touch his shoulder. I want to be there for him. He's hit rock bottom.

I've been there.

Alone.

Afraid.

Scared.

Worried.

Not knowing what to expect next.

Maybe another day, his words would have hurt me, but I know he doesn't mean them. He's lashing out to lash out. I've done that, only I did it with a razor blade to my own skin.

The least I can do is show him compassion.

"You should go," he says.