Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 276: The end of the screams

"It was all thanks to Lila, she saved me," she whispered, her breath hot and uneven against his shirt.

"She was the only one. When I was locked in here, crying, when the bugs came—when the Matron screamed—I thought I’d die in this box. But she came. She always came. She killed them for me. All of them. She was strong. She was brave. I would’ve died if not for her. I owe her everything..."

Kael didn’t say anything at first.

Just held her, his arms a steady cage of warmth in the oppressive dark, letting the words tumble out, raw and unfiltered, her body still trembling from the echoes of her past.

Then, quiet.

Careful, his voice a gentle probe into the storm.

"Tila," he murmured, his hand continuing its slow path along her back. "Where was Lila... when they locked you in this box?"

Tila hesitated, confused, pulling back just enough to blink up at him through tear-blurred eyes. "With me. Of course. She was always with me."

Kael’s voice remained soft, steady, like a lighthouse in fog. "No. I mean... inside this box. That first night. When they threw you in, screaming. Where was Lila? Where did she go?"

Tila’s grip loosened slightly, her fingers uncurling from his shirt as doubt flickered across her face.

"She was..." she faltered, her black eyes darting as if searching the shadows for answers. "She... she wasn’t there that night. She... came later."

Kael nodded gently, stroking her back in rhythmic reassurance, his hazel eyes calm anchors.

"And the next night? When they came with the insects? When you scratched your skin raw and no one answered your cries? Where was she?"

Tila’s breath hitched, a sharp intake that caught in her throat. Her fingers twitched against his shirt, grasping at threads like lifelines.

"She wasn’t there either. I—I don’t... remember."

"And when the children jeered at you through the slats? When the Matron locked the door and turned her back on your screams?"

Kael’s voice never rose. Never scolded. Just asked, each question a soft chisel against the facade she’d built.

"Was Lila with you then?"

Tila’s mouth opened, her lips forming shapes without sound.

No words came.

Her face twisted in slow confusion, thoughts catching on invisible thorns, pulling at the seams of her reality.

She was trembling again, but this time not from memory—from something deeper.

A dissonance splitting her mind apart, like a mirror cracking from the center outward.

She looked up at Kael, wide-eyed, her black gaze pleading for clarity.

"I don’t... I don’t understand..."

He met her gaze, steady and calm, his forehead gently pressing against hers in the dim confines.

"Where were you and where was Lila when all of that happened?"

Tila stared, her breath shallow, the question hanging between them like smoke.

"You said Lila saved you. But where were you?"

She blinked, her voice a fragile thread. "I was..." Her voice shook. "In the box."

Kael nodded slowly, encouraging without pressure. "And Lila?"

Her lips parted.

Her eyes twitched, darting like a rabbit trapped in a too-small cage, panic rising as the pieces refused to fit.

"She... she wasn’t... she didn’t..."

Realization crept in like icewater down her spine, slow and chilling, freezing her in place.

She choked, the sound guttural and pained. "She... didn’t come."

"No," Kael said gently, his tone laced with empathy, his hold unwavering.

"I was alone," Tila whispered, the words barely audible, as if speaking them made them real.

Kael’s arms didn’t falter. "Yes."

Tila shook her head violently, the motion more like a convulsion, her curls whipping in the stale air.

"No. That’s wrong. Lila—Lila killed them for me! She came when I needed her—she held me when I cried, she told me I was strong—she..."

"Tila," Kael said, voice low, anchoring, cutting through the whirlwind without force. "Lila didn’t come later. Lila was born later."

The silence that followed wasn’t hollow.

It was thunder, muted, rumbling in the depths of her soul, building pressure.

Kael looked into her eyes, his hazel gaze soft but unyielding.

"There was no twin at the orphanage. I’ve seen the records. One name. One bed. One child. Lital. Does this name ring a bell?"

Tila’s breath left her in a rush, a gasp that echoed off the walls.

Her knees nearly buckled if not for Kael holding her up, his strength the only thing keeping her from collapsing into the abyss.

"No," she whispered, her voice fracturing like glass. "No, that’s not right. That’s not... possible."

He didn’t push.

Just waited, his presence a patient guide through the unraveling.

Tila’s voice cracked again, desperate. "But... Me and Tila. We were twins."

"Lila," Kael said softly, "was never real. Not at first."

Tila’s entire body quaked in his arms, a tremor that started from her core and radiated outward.

"You made her," he said, his words gentle revelations. "Because no one came."

Tears flowed again, but this time not with fear.

These were heavier.

Older, carrying the weight of illusions shattered.

"You were a child," Kael murmured, his voice a soothing whisper in the dark. "And you needed someone to hold you. Someone to love you. To fight for you. So you gave yourself a sister. A cute one just like you."

Tila made no sound.

Her sobs were silent—wracking her ribs, flooding her lungs with emotion she didn’t know how to survive, her body heaving in quiet agony.

"She was your strength when you needed it," Kael whispered, forehead resting against hers, sharing the burden. "The guardian you wished for every night but you never had. And so... She was born and she kept you alive."

He held her as she fell apart in his arms, pieces of her fractured self scattering in the box that had once been her prison.

The truth was a jagged mirror—and she’d spent years living in the fractured reflection.

But now she was looking into it for the first time.

And she was alone in the memory.

But not alone anymore.