Page 66 of The Circle

“Alec,” Eliza says from behind me. I turn to look. “I’m not a victim,” she says.

“I would not ever imagine you as such,” I tell her.

“No. Hear me,” she says. “I made choices. Just as you did. And we’re both responsible for the people who were hurt in the process. You don’t get to take it all on. You don’t get to be the hero or the martyr. We’re equal partners in the villainy.”

(Ah. I knew we were both the villain.)

“I can’t undo it, obviously, and neither can you,” she goes on, “but I will tell you something…” She takes a moment to, I suppose, search for exactly how she wants to say what she wants to say. “Andra is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. She has altered me. Foundationally. The irony is that she has so fundamentally changed the way I see and engage with the world that what happened before that caused her very existence wouldn’t happen again now.”

I see tears start forming around the corners of her eyes, and it’s strange, because they’re not emerging from a place of unbridled rage but rather a place of pure regret and fear. I’ve never seen this before from her.

“I’ve never been mad at you,” she says with some amount of exhaustion, “not really. I mean, obviously you’re a gigantic asshole who demolishes everything he sees, but who isn’t? So, it’s not you who I’ve been angry with. It’s… I suppose it’s me. Can you understand that? At all?”

I make a small, audible, ‘mm’ sound and then say, “Yeah. I think so.”

“So,” she says, “my priority is to care for myself and my child. That’s it. It’s to take care of us and to try to do as little harm as possible going forward.”

“I understand,” I say.

“And, thus, while I appreciate the apology—and I do, honestly—it’s just not that consequential now. Do you get what I saying to you?”

“I believe I do,” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says, lingering there before offering, “Children change you. They really do. How is up to you. But…” She nibbles at her lip, clearly struggling to say whatever is in her brain. “I don’t know. Let’s just see how we all go, I guess,” she concludes.

I have a mountain of thoughts piling up in my mind. But if I start talking, I fear it could turn into an unhelpful avalanche of words, so I keep them to myself.

“Go get some rest,” I tell her. “We’ll have time to say more after we’ve accomplished a dazzling rescue in Vienna.” I smile. She offers a half-smile in return before turning and striding off to her cabin.

Turning back, I look at my reflection in the window once again. Who are you, bru? Who are you and who are you hoping to become? It’s going to take an awful, awful lot of work if you are to make amends for everything you’ve done in your life.

Perhaps, bru, perhaps. But one foot in front of the other, as they say, yeah? Maybe let’s just start with making amends for what’s happening right now. Let’s get the child back. Let’s get her back safely, and soundly, and in the arms of her—

The train whistle again. Only this time it’s not the whistle that causes me to start in my seat, but the feeling that washes over me. Another cold chill. A feeling of discontent.

A feeling of, as the expression goes…

… someone walking over my grave.