The tears mist my eyes, my throat swelling so I almost can’t breathe as ache hits me low in the gut and threatens to make me crumble. I push the note back inside quickly, trying to combat it and flick through the cash, mentally counting almost two hundred dollars, and it breaks the wall holding in tears. I slump down onto the floor like a disheveled sack and cry, holding it close to my chest and breaking down. It’s not just for this. It’s for everything.
Why did I find my pack now, at a time when I thought I had no other option? Why would the Fates give me something closer to a real home, only to make it unreachable by the tiniest stretch?
I have to pull myself together and stop being weak. None of it matters, and it doesn’t change things. I have to get my crap together and stick to what I decided. I have to stay strong and determined. I can’t break because I won’t be able to put myself back together if I do.
I pull myself to get up and walk to the closet, despite heaving with wracking breaths sniffing as I try to stop the tears. I have to find a bag to pack my shit up and focus on doing, not feeling. Luckily, whoever brought my things from the orphanage packed some of them in a large backpack that had been Vanka’s. I drag it out of the bottom corner, holding it for a second, a fresh wave of pain twisting my insides as I stroke across the corner where she wrote her name in a black marker pen. Bold, jaggy letters that somehow represent who she was in life. I numb it out, swallow it down, haul out essentials, and stuff them inside.
I need basics, like a couple of changes of clothes, toiletries, the money, the snacks I have in my room. I need something to sleep with, too, like a blanket to lay on the ground, and something to carry water in, just in case I can’t find a stream or river in hours. I don’t know what else to pack, and I end up shoving things haphazardly. A book I never got round to reading, the iPod that was among my belongings, and then I realize I probably won’t be able to charge it if I stay in the wilderness and put it back on the shelf. I find a lighter, the Swiss Army knife that I kept among my treasured items from my father’s possessions. Some old camping matches and his flint stick for making fires should I run out of matches.
I push through my stuff and come to Colton’s gray T-shirt, pausing painfully, recognizing it as the one he gave me to wear when I shredded my clothes. I thought I’d given everything of his back to Meadow for him, but this remains like a scar on my heart. His human smell still lingers in the fabric, despite it being washed, or maybe I’m just conjuring it up for myself, his scent so ingrained in my head that I will it to come back at me. I impulsively push it in the bag, stroking it for a second too long, and zip everything up inside. I shouldn’t take a part of him with me for my sanity, but I can’t bear to take it back out.
I keep checking my watch, even though I know I have another 3 hours before they assemble for dusk patrol. I have to kill time without going back downstairs and acting weird. I need to occupy myself without obsessing and driving myself crazy until it’s time to go.
The thought hits me. A shower!! That’s an idea. And a nap if I can force it. Refresh myself change into more suitable clothes than this sports pants and T-shirt duo I have sweated all over. Tasks will pass the time and keep my brain centered.
I pull my clothes off without hesitation, throw them in my wash basket, and quickly head to the bathroom. Yanking my hair down from my ponytail and turning on the shower, testing it before I go to step in.
Lorey? You there?
Colton’s voice hits me in the center of my forehead, the last thing I was expecting, and I almost slide with surprise as I lay my foot on the wet shower floor, grabbing onto the door to stop myself falling, like a newborn fawn on unsure legs, almost crashing into mayhem.
For the love of all that is holy, why are the Fates screwing with me today?
Yes, what do you want?
I snap, a little harshly, instantly remorseful at my knee-jerk reaction to him, then not, when anger kicks me in the butt and reminds me what an ignorant asshat he is. That he’s all good to reach out now, after an unexpected brush with me downstairs, pushed his ‘need to contact me’ button a lot harder. I rub my bruised shin, which bashes the shower screen, and jump in under the hot water instead of standing like an idiot.
After seeing you downstairs… I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.
I can pick up on the hesitation, the agony in his tone, and I sigh heavily. Madness wavering because I’m a fool when it comes to him sounding like this, this boy, and against all my better judgments, I soften my tone when I should cut him off instead.
Why are you reaching out? We both know what you’re going to do. Can we just not do this?
He’s killing me, making all those emotions spiral up and mess with me all over again, and I need to be stronger than this. I need to bring back the bite to my voice, the steel to my resolve, and end this before making myself even more confused.
I can’t seem to stop myself. I can only go so long, and the need to see you or hear you gets too much. I have no willpower when it comes to you.
Back to his hot-cold bullshit, and I know if I let myself get drawn in again, it will only go like every other time. After a couple of days of pulling close and then, he backs off and leaves me feeling desolate again. I get it. I do because the need for him is always stronger when we have some contact, but I’m not playing anymore. It’s not helping either of us, and, as much as I love him, I have to do this.
I have a solution ... every time you feel you have to talk to me ...
go talk to Carmen. I’m sure she’ll love that.
I focus on something to be pissed about, and it does the trick. Moody, bitchy tone setting in. I can always count on my brokenhearted jealousy to find the fire in my soul. I sound as bitter as he makes me feel, and I’m glad the water is pouring over my face and camouflaging the tears falling of their own accord. I have zero control of that right now, and glad he can neither see nor hear them.
I deserve that. I don’t know what to say to you. I’ve been a coward for days because I can’t face you. I don’t know how to say the words to you or how to say sorry for what I’m going to do. I guess we both know what’s going to happen next week.
He confirms my worst fears and solidifies my decision in that one brief statement. Ripping what’s left of my shredded, mutilated heart out and stomping it all over the floor until there’s nothing left but a mess. He’s chosen to go through with marking her, and this is his goodbye. His confirmation.
Then don’t. I need to go. I have to do chores. Maybe just leave me alone until it’s done, and then we’ll see what happens from there.
I lie, trying to sound tough. Mentally scathing in tone, even if my body is shaking with the buildup of the sobbing that’s coming. Trembling as I try to hold it in, breathing fast and shallow. Throwing cold and snappy in there while my limbs are quaking with the effort, but I can’t let him know what it is I am planning on doing. He would stop me, even with his mind made up. His need to protect me would overrule everything else.
Right … chores … of course. I have to go assemble for patrol in a couple of hours too. Enjoy your chores. I guess I’ll see you around.
He lingers, saying it slowly, as though looking for a reason to stay.
Yeah, you too. Now I gotta go. Bye.
I don’t give him a chance to linger more or reply, sensing his hesitation, so I take control. I’m the one to close the door on our connection and shut it down dead as I do. Doing something I haven’t ever done to him, he always did it to me, metaphorically shutting it, bolting it tight, and pushing the soundproofing button on our link so he can’t come back anymore. I don’t want him getting through. I mentally lock it and toss the key aside. I’m not going to lie, it feels like I just stabbed myself in the chest with a dull object, and I gasp sob when the dead silent noise consumes that part of my mind. It’s horrendous to know I’m the one to cut him off, but I have to do this. I can’t have him popping into my brain anymore. Never again.
I stop for a moment to process the conversation, and despite trying so hard to be strong, I end up sitting on the floor under the full force of my shower head and sobbing my heart out until I can’t breathe with the effort. The doubts slide in, and I have to chastise myself for being so stupid.
This is why he’s stayed away. It makes both of us weak and clouds our judgment. I should have known seeing him would push him to contact me. It’s harder when we do, especially touching, and we did when we collided. I probably played on his mind after I left because of that simple moment, and I’m just as pathetic, sitting here crying over him. I shouldn’t have responded to him at all; he shouldn’t have reached out. It’s just proof that our bond is powerful, no matter what we try to do, and neither can control the way it keeps bringing us back together.
I hate the Fates and this infernal bond. It’s messing up everything, and I’ve no longer any control over my feelings. I thought I was strong, but I’m an idiot regarding him. I’m a fool for him in every way, and I can’t even stay mad or hateful, no matter what he does, because the second I get a chance at connecting, I let him. I shouldn’t have left the link open all week; I should not have allowed myself to get taken in for even a second. It should have been done the second I decided I was leaving and not given him a window of opportunity. I won’t make that mistake again, for sure.
I yank myself up, pull my head out of my ass and aggressively wash down while refusing to break down anymore. It’s the past. It’s not where I need to be, mentally.
I wash my face until it feels raw, wiping away tears I don’t want to cry anymore, and shampoo my hair with vigor, as though cleansing my head of thoughts and feelings. I finish up fast, pull a towel on when I step out, and focus all my efforts on drying quickly, rubbing my hair as dry as I can get it, before combining it into a sleek ponytail and pulling on fresh underwear and clothes. I slide on jeans, a tank, and a sweater, pull on some socks and sneakers. I look around the room for anything I want to add to my backpack.
I tidy my room, make the bed, and lie down on top of it to force myself to take a nap to kill some time, staring blankly at the ceiling and refusing to let my mind wander back to him, us, or this crappy situation.
There’s a noise outside my door that makes me flinch, and I pause and stare at it, praying to God he hasn’t decided to come here and start this shit all over again. It’s what he does. I hold my breath and listen, my own heart beating loudly in my ears as panic sets in.
I can’t see him. I can’t let him sway me, touch me, or get close. My heart will betray me if I do.
It’s followed by the squeak of one of the cleaning carts, and I exhale when it rolls right past my room and fades into the distance. My body weak with relief, and I sprawl out star-shaped on my bed, exhaling so heavily I let out a whooshing noise and then moan at my stupid despair.
Stop freaking out, Alora. You’re going to get yourself in such a mess and not be able to follow through. Relax, breathe, count.
I put everything into doing just that, remember the techniques I used when I stayed in the home and couldn’t relax or sleep on nights when everything got to me too much. I picture a meadow, a sweet-scented field full of pretty flowers, and one by one, as I walk through them, I count the heads, picking them out, touching them as I go. I visualize the colors, the feel of their soft, silky petals on my fingers, and how the subtle scent blows around on the breeze. They all dance and sway in ripples, coming to me in mixed smells. It helps me drift into a calmer state of mind. The noise of nature drowning out everything else in my mind’s eye. If I can just focus my energy for a little while, I can get through this. Once I’m out of here, and on my way, it’ll be easier.
It seems to work. I drift into a semi hazy state of rest, and before I know it, an hour or more has passed, and it’s getting dull outside.
I come to, aware I’ve lost time and must have slept, blinking at the sudden light change of the space around me and checking the clock on my wall. I’m shocked that it’s been more than a couple of hours since I came up here already. I guess I spent a long time in the shower, and I hop up woozily, pacing to bring the nerves firing up and awakening my senses back in line.
It’s early yet, but I don’t think I have it in me to wait any longer. I stalk to the window to look out over the back of the packhouse. It’s deserted back here, still too light for the guards to take up position, and maybe it’s a sign I shouldn’t wait until dusk. Perhaps too many will be out there, and I might not be able to make up excuses if I get stopped trying to make my way out. Everyone should be running around, doing chores right now, so I might have a better chance if I do it now.
A quick plan comes to mind, and I turn, picking up my damp towels from the laundry and wrapping them haphazardly around my backpack, adding my sweats, so they look like a bundle of dirty clothes. I had intended scaling down my window later if I could, but this way, I can walk through the house as though I’m late for laundry duty. If anyone sees me, I’m just collecting clothes, and I can use the exit in the hall before the laundry room to access the rear of the house. It’s a solid plan, and I don’t waste time pulling myself together.
I bundle my faux pile up in my arms, checking in the new mirror hung in here the other day to see if my backpack is on show. Satisfied it isn’t, I head to the door, take one last look around my room, and take a deep, steadying breath.
It’s time to do this.
I use one hand to haul it open, slide-out, and turn left towards the back stairs down to the first floor. The one closest to my door and brings me out is the same narrow hallway leading to the back exit and the laundry door. It’s perfect. I don’t know why I didn’t click on this before, and maybe this is the Fates trying to make up for messing with me.
I pass a few people lugging carts and vacuums from room to room and keep my head down, not really noticed by them, wishing I’d worn a hoody so I could pull it up, but it’s too late now. I stick on my route, turn into the stair, scale it in seconds in hyper-speed and then head along the final hallway to freedom.
Soon as I get near the door, I look around, see no one is out here despite the hustle and bustle and steam coming from the nearby closed door to laundry, and head out the back door instead. No one is back here either, oddly. It’s either good fortune or someone up there giving me a break. I’m aware many windows look this way, though, and I’m still not free and clear.
I unwrap my bag, pull it onto my back, and shove my dirty clothes and towels in a nearby bush. Look around before sticking up against the house, my back sliding along the rough brickwork, eyes darting all around me to check no one is around. I almost crawl under the window to the room I should be in right now, holding my breath every inch of the way. My heartbeat’s crazy fast and racing, my breaths shallow and hurried. My face is sweaty because I’m scared to hell of being caught and marched to Juan Santo.
I stick to the flower beds, stepping over them so I don’t trip, stay tight against the walls, and duck under every window I get to. I take it slow, try to remain silent as I do, and battle my own shaking limbs. I’m heading for the tree line, which runs along one side of the manor, and once I get in there, I can run as fast as my body allows me relatively unseen in its dense woods. It extends for a couple of miles right out of the valley and into the farmlands beyond. I can’t turn, as I don’t want to ruin my clothes now. I only have two complete outfits, but I should be able to speed out without doing it.
I hold my breath when a door swings open behind me, freezing in place, half crouched, and eyes widening in horror. I glance back, seeing it swing out into view, and my heart skips a beat, sweat rolling down my forehead from my hairline. No one comes out, though a voice waves my way closer than I expected.
“Yeah, leave it open. It’s like a goddamn sauna in here. It’s inhumane making us work in this shit for hours on end.” I don’t recognize the female voice, and whoever opened the door mumbles in response, retreating inside and fading in volume level.
I exhale, relaxing heavily, thinking my legs might give out with that little shock, move my ass back into gear, and run crawl the rest of the way, feeling lightheaded.
As soon as I hit the tree line, I pull myself behind the biggest trunk I can find and use it as a viewpoint to check if anyone saw me come over here. I take a minute to pull myself together, breathe properly, and lean against the rough bark until I regain my strength and the wobbliness in my legs fade. I check my surroundings, surprised that there is no one out here. But as Juan has made it clear for days, the vampires can’t be out in daylight. I guess that’s why. Everyone is busy doing what they’re doing, and I can hear voices on the wind from the front of the manor, hinting that many of those with no chores are assembled in the front field. I won’t get another chance like this.
I put my head down, turn in the direction I want to go, and set my legs in motion with no intention of slowing down, stopping, or looking back until there are at least five miles between Radstone and me. I may have a heart attack as soon as I set out, but I keep one strong thought at the center of my mind –
I’m finally free!
…. And I don’t let up until I’m sure of it.