My vision, black seconds ago, abruptly turned white. I was in a pure white void. I heard faint whispers and I couldn't see or feel my body. 

This felt familiar...

The white abruptly vanished and I felt a softness. 

A... bed. And I had a body again.

I sat up quickly, panting. I looked around.

I was in a white room.

"Careful," came a soft voice. "You're a bit weak. You just finished reintegrating from death."

"I'm dead?" I yelped.

Then my mind began working again. "Right. I've been dead for a week now."

There was a laugh from my right and I turned to see Bjorn, sitting on the bed next to me.

"I guess I totally failed the test," I said, and Bjorn grinned.

"You failed with flying colors, dude," he said, smiling.

I started to pull the covers off before realizing I was naked. I turned red and looked at Bjorn.

"First death in hell?" asked Bjorn.

"When else would I have died?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I guess that's true. Do you know how deaths in hell work?"

"Nope," I said. "I know we can't die, and that's it."

"Well," sighed Bjorn, "I've witnessed it and experienced it enough times. Basically, upon death your body catches fire instantly and then turns into, like, a cloud of floating blood. Just about everything in hell's fireproof, so the fire isn't ever really a problem, though successfully moving the cloud of blood is a bit difficult since, you know, you can't just push a floating fluid around with hands. We have special devices to make that easier, though. The blood reintegrates into how your body was upon first entering hell and in the meantime your mind is stuck in limbo, you know, that weird sort of white space you were in right when you died."

"So... now that I've failed that test..." I began.

"Yep, I took notes," said Bjorn. "Get some rest for now--reintegrating's kinda exhausting--and later we'll begin with a lesson on how to use one of the U.S.I.'s stun guns."

"Stun gun?" I said. I looked at the huge gun lying on the bedside table and said, "Seems a bit big to just be a stun gun."

"I mean, technically it kills demons," said Bjorn. "But for demons, death is basically just falling unconscious. So we call it a stun gun."

Bjorn got off the bed and my mind belatedly realized that I'd been lying in a bed naked next to Bjorn. Then, my mind realized something else.

"Bjorn... you can't put floating red liquid under a blanket," I said, "so did you see me... naked?"

Bjorn's face was actually a bit reddish now. "Well, yeah. I, uh, saw the scars."

Tears pricked at my eyes and Bjorn said, "Hey, hey! That's your business, okay? I won't ask about them or anything if you don't want me to. I promise."

I looked away, feeling ashamed anyway. I had scars on my thighs. They hadn't vanished when I entered hell, like the burns from the fire had. They were self-harm I'd done to myself because Dad died. I'd put them on my thighs because people never saw my thighs.

Except Giovanna.

But she didn't care whether I was hurt, or injured, or anything. She just cared that I could do stuff for her. Cook for her, clean for her, be the boy she hurt when she was angry, the boy she forced herself on when she was lusty.

I'd stopped self harming a month or so after Dad's death, but the scars had stayed.

I was so ashamed of them. They were the manifestation of how broken I had been inside and how broken I still was.

"Uhm..." Bjorn was silent for a second. "Meet me at Initiation Chamber 72, okay? You're in Recovery Room 8 right now. There's a shower that way. You can sleep if you want to. Just make sure to message me when you're ready to train."

He tapped the wall--it seemed like tapping things was a habit of his--and said, "All of us have done something bad in our life. Many times, it was because of terrible circumstances. Many of us here may be able to understand what you feel. Talk to us. Please."

I still couldn't look at him. He closed the door behind him, leaving me alone.

Cue yet another crying spiel.

After crying, I freshened up and showered, wondering idly how many showers I'd taken that day. Which day was it? I was losing track of time what with sleeping at weird times and dying at weird times...

I briskly made my way to meet Bjorn at the training chamber. I felt on edge. Anton, Emryth, now Bjorn... they were all telling me to open up to them. But I didn't want to open up to anyone. It was scary. Like exposing my body, or perhaps even my heart for people to see.

Bjorn already saw the scars, though.

He knew something about me that few knew.

Hey, hey! That's your business, okay? I won't ask about them or anything if you don't want me to. I promise.

He didn't push about it. He was willing to accept that I might not tell him. And he offered to let me talk to him.

I was thankful to Bjorn for that.

Bjorn had sinned like I had. We both had skeletons in our closet.

Anton, Emryth... every single person in this building had a skeleton in their closet.

They all shared something in common with me.

Why didn't I try to find comfort in that? 

What kind of a person was I? Clamming up... for, what, just for no reason?

"Hey, Amaro," said Bjorn, as I walked into the initiation chamber locker room.

His smile faded. "You look..."

He shook his head. "Never mind."

"No," I said, suddenly feeling an odd desire to know what he thought of me. "Say it. Please. What do I look like?"

"You look like you've cried," Bjorn said.

"I did," I replied flatly, frustrated that he noticed that.

"I want to help you, Amaro," said Bjorn, almost fervently. "You need to talk to people. Why won't you?"

"Because I am a coward!" I yelled. "I am a fucking coward! I was a coward who cut myself to let out my grief. I was a coward who killed myself and the mother who abused me. I am a coward who can't open up to people."

Bjorn was silent after my outburst.

"I-I'm sorry," I muttered, tears beginning to spill from my eyes. I'd just told him my sin. "You asked me here to train and I--"

"You forgot something," said Bjorn slowly.