She awoke to hushed voices. Awareness brought with it the discomfort of faint candlelight shining in her eyes. It wasn’t too bright, but just bright enough that it wouldn’t allow her to go back to sleep. With a disgruntled sigh, she pushed her blankets aside and got up. Her bare feet were instantly cold against the floorboards, and as she quietly paced towards the door, the voices became clearer and their words intelligible.
“...because I’m the best you have and this is time sensitive. If that wasn’t the case, this wouldn’t be an argument, you would have sent someone else no matter what I have to say.”
“Is it so wrong of me that I want you here when our child’s to be born any day now?”
“No. Of course not.”
A tense silence followed. And instead of closing the partially open door, as intended, she found herself opening it a bit further and peering through. Her parents were sitting on opposite sides of her mother’s desk, staring at one another as if at an impasse. Finally, her mother pushed something across the desktop.
“Return quickly. Otherwise I don’t know how I’ll forgive you.”
“I’ll be here. There’s no reason this can’t be resolved peacefully, right?”
“You can’t trust hunters, Richard. They’re territorial with their marks. I would prefer you didn’t approach them at all. Focus on the target.”
“It doesn’t matter to them if they bring their man to Newhaven alive or dead. I’m sure a compromise is possible. You fret too much, Alpha.”
“I fret an adequate amount.”
“You ought to let Tom take over some of that fretting, at least for a time. It’s not good for you, or the pup.”
Strained laughter followed the statement then trailed off into an exasperated sigh. “You say that as though Tom doesn’t fret over you as well. He would have convinced me to allow him to go on this contract himself if not for this situation.” Her mother gestured at herself. “I can’t have him be away if there’s a chance I’ll be incapacitated soon.”
“True, but that’s precisely why you have me.” Her father stood and she watched his dimly lit frame slowly circle around the desk. He knelt beside her chair and his tone softened. “We all have our places in service to the Wolfpack, Claire. You have your part to play, and I have mine. Some things will need to change, and we can discuss them after I turn in this contract, but that can’t be one of them.”
“I’m aware.”
It seemed as though her father was about to say something else, but he stopped himself when he looked towards her bedroom. It was darker in her room and she immediately stepped back from the door, retreated into her bed as though she never left it, hoping she hadn't been spotted. Those hopes were shattered by gentle footfall and the creaking of her bedroom door.
“This hinge needs fixing,” he said, and she heard the door creak a few more times before the footsteps continued, then stopped right beside where she was pretending to sleep.
“Kiddo,” he called. “I can tell you’re awake.”
Slowly, she pulled the covers down until they no longer covered her eyes. The man kneeling next to her childhood bed was enveloped by fog, she knew he’d been there, but her mind couldn’t fully bring forth the imagery.
“The light was in my eyes,” she heard herself mumble. Her voice was small, much much younger than she could usually recall. “Where are you going?” The question slipped out. She hadn’t meant to reveal she had been listening.
“Something needs taking care of, kiddo. I won’t be gone very long, I promise.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Take care of your mom and the babe while I’m away, won’t you? Give her a good scolding if you catch her working too much.” She nodded and had the vague recollection of a familiar smile beaming just past her mental fog. “Good. I’ll get your door fixed up then, too. But right now, I need to be off. And you need to go back to sleep.”
[Wolves Camp | Helios 20th, 2526 | Early Evening]
Lena awoke to hushed voices and a sick feeling clawing at the pit of her stomach. Even through closed eyelids she could feel the world swaying. Her body felt heavy, yet floaty, awareness of her own self came through in foggy waves. She must have stirred, however, because suddenly all conversation ceased.
“Helena?”
She recognized the signs of a fever spike, and the mental confusion characteristic of her enlightenment having pulled her under for an extended period of time. These were things she’d unfortunately grown accustomed to since her unpleasant brush with death. The raw concern on her mother’s voice, on the other hand, was new. Merely the fact that her mother was present told her this had been far more severe than usual. And as she opened her eyes and tried to make the visage of her bedroom come into focus, she couldn’t recall the events that left her in this state.
“Who fixed the door?” Lena mumbled, unable to keep her foggy thoughts from spilling out. “Dad said he’d fix the door, but...” she trailed off when she met her mother’s eyes. The Alpha stared at her as though Lena had just summoned a ghost into the room. That night was so long ago.
“Tom fixed it,” her mother answered.
Lena forced a deep breath. Right. Tom had fixed the door. Tom had ensured she was fed and tucked in every night. Her mother hadn’t been very present for a while after Dani’s birth. And that didn’t matter now. It happened when she was still a small child. “How long—What happened?”
“That’s a far more pertinent question, well done,” a familiar voice interjected.
Lena groaned and turned to face the speaker. Miriam. The Healer had a reprimanding gaze locked on her. As if her initial inquiry had been a result of misguided priorities and not mental confusion. “Thank you, may I have an answer, then?”
“You awoke from a nightmare, seemingly in a panic, and when questioned about the subject of said dream you had a severe episode,” the healer informed.
As she spoke, the woman pushed a small cup onto Lena’s hand. The warmth radiating from it gave away the fact it was tea. She groaned, but tried to weakly bring it to her lips without spilling on herself. She took a small sip, then cleared her throat. “Define ‘episode’,” she requested. “How long was I out for?”
“Four nights and three days,” Miriam informed. “As for what the episode entailed, according to mister Fletcher’s account you woke up in a panic and seemingly disoriented, and while at first you were responsive to an extent, upon trying to recall the specifics of your nightmare, your state quickly deteriorated. You seized and fell unconscious. You had been unconscious since.”
It took a few moments for Lena’s sluggish mind to absorb the information. She couldn’t recall the events being described and it unsettled her. “I’m fevering again.”
“Dangerously so,” Miriam added. Then turned to Claire. “Alpha, would you please excuse us for a moment?”
“Of course.”
Lena felt her mother’s hand linger in hers, then tightly squeeze before letting go. A part of her mind that still clung to childhood memories wanted to hold on, to plead with her mother to stay just as she would have done then. She suppressed the childish protests threatening to rise from her throat, but something must have shown in her expression. Claire shushed her gently and leaned in to kiss her forehead.
"I will bring you something from the kitchens. It's been too long, you need to eat," she said.
Lena only managed a feeble nod, not knowing how to process the overwhelming helplessness spurred by her mother’s gesture. As if all of a sudden she was once again a five year old in need of soothing.
Miriam waited for the door to close after the Alpha, then pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat. “You’re getting worse, girl.”
“I’ve noticed,” Lena muttered. She sighed and forced another sip of tea. “It frightens me that I can’t remember,” she admitted. “That’s never happened before. I always remember.”
Miriam sighed, and calmly poked the mostly-full tea cup in Lena’s hand. “Finish that, you’ll need it,” she scolded.
“Hasn’t been doing all that much lately,” Lena mumbled, but drank more anyway.
“There’s only so much anything or anyone will be able to do now, girl. You must find the means to help yourself. And quickly. Your health will continue to deteriorate further.”
Lena shook her head. She drained the rest of the tea and let the cup fall to the floor, too weak and too uncaring to properly place it on the nightstand. “That’s much easier said than done, clearly.”
Miriam paid Lena’s grumbling no mind. The Healer calmly retrieved the fallen cup and placed it on the nightstand. “You have a very inquisitive mind, Helena. I’ve reviewed your records prior to meeting with Silas in Newhaven and Master Witters had nothing but praise for how intelligent you are. In any other circumstance I would consider that a blessing, but right now it is cursing you. I’ll reiterate that you don’t need to know or understand what your mind is holding on to, quite the contrary.”
“Again, that’s much easier said than done, Healer.” Lena rubbed her eyes and attempted to sit up. The slightest movement made her feel as though the world was spinning circles around her. She tried to fight the feeling, but ultimately succumbed to it with a groan and fell back on her pillow. “I can feel it there. Just at the edge of my consciousness. Like something clawing at the walls in the middle of the night. I shine a light on it and I don’t see anything there, but the moment I start to forget, I tell myself whatever it was isn’t there anymore... And suddenly I hear it scratching.”
“Ignore it,” Miriam said. “Think of it like a healing wound. Don’t touch it, don’t scratch at it if it starts to itch, leave it be.”
“It’s difficult.” Lena hated the way her voice broke. She couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness or the dread finally beginning to sink its teeth into her heart. The intrusive thought that if she failed, it wouldn’t matter how hard she tried. And she was failing. “It hurts,” she added, quieter.
“I know.”
The Healer’s words were empty reassurance. Lena wasn’t sure if anything could actually comfort her in this. Part of her did crave the knowledge of what happened the night of her episode, in the time she’d been unconscious, but digging around for those memories would be a dangerously steep slope to navigate. And she knew what awaited at the end of it. So she lay there—awake for the first time in days—staring at the ceiling and desperately ignoring the persistent scratching at her mind’s walls.
----------------------------------------
It was hard to situate time. She couldn’t remember when last she’d seen her mother. She wasn’t even sure how long it’d been since she last mustered the courage to ask for her. The excuses grated on her ears. The empty reassurances even more so. Being told not to worry, her mother was just tired, she’d get to see her soon. How much longer was ‘soon’?
It was even harder to fully situate how she felt during that period. She wanted to cry and scream, to break things, because she felt smaller and more invisible with each passing day. She was always being spoken over, or spoken about as though she wasn’t present, by people who towered over her and couldn’t be bothered to look her in the eyes. She was there, though. And she wanted it to be known, she needed someone to know. But her voice always died in her throat. Her limbs felt too heavy to fight with. She couldn’t understand the heaviness permeating the entire camp, but she felt it just as strongly as everyone else. So instead of letting her anger and frustration boil over, she dug a deep hole for those feelings and buried them. She stopped asking questions. She stopped trying to be in rooms full of adults who would only act as though she wasn’t there. She withdrew into the sanctity of her bedroom for longer and longer periods of time. And even though she was still struggling to learn her letters, she found a small amount of solace in flipping through the pages of books.
The first time she was allowed into the room, she spared her baby sister the same attention she felt was deserved. That was to say, she looked at her for merely a moment, then asked to be excused. Her mother didn’t seem angry with her lack of interest. Her voice was gentle as she allowed her to take her leave. She looked at her with the kind of sadness of someone clutching the broken pieces of something they didn’t know how to fix.
Time passed and her disinterest remained. She’d gotten used to the baby’s sounds, with all the small changes necessary to accommodate her into daily life, she had even found it within herself to be agreeable to the idea that they would need to share a room. Even so, when asked how she felt about being a big sister, she only shrugged and most often asked her mother for permission to leave. She’d often hear the adults say she needed more time when they thought she could no longer hear them. Time for what... She wasn’t sure. She didn’t know what they expected would happen.
“Would you like to hold the baby?”
The question was posed, unassuming, by the kind worker her mother had tasked with watching them for the day. The woman took her shrug for a positive answer and asked her to sit on the bed. Feeling as though she’d already inadvertently agreed, thus had no choice, she obeyed. She didn’t as much hold the baby as it was placed on her lap, still in the worker’s hands. But it was enough for her to feel the weight of her tiny body. Unlike their first meeting, when she looked at the baby now, it looked back at her, wide-eyed, simultaneously flailing its little arms and legs as though it had something to prove.
In a brief moment of annoyance with the frantic movement, she grasped one of the baby’s fists in her hand. It struggled, making a small distressed sound. Not wanting it to cry, she let go. In retaliation, the baby took hold of her finger. And squeezed. Hard. As hard as a baby was capable of, anyway. Then, as though it knew it had won, it smiled at her. She could have freed herself easily. She wanted to reject that small gesture and return to treating the baby as another part of the scenery. She wanted to be unaffected by all the change it represented, but found herself unable to pull herself free. To turn away. In that moment something broke; melted away with a warm bubble of laughter. And, without giving them proper consideration, she whispered the first words she would ever say to her baby sister.
“Hey, there, kiddo.”
[Wolves Camp | Helios 26th, 2526 | Late Night]
Lena was burning up. Her sleep was plagued with excruciating pain and unintelligible screaming. It forced her awake amidst waves of nausea and panic. As quickly as they burned, the memories faded, leaving her rattled and shaking in a cold sweat. Her room was silent and empty. She vaguely remembered snapping at Eldric earlier in the evening. All he’d done was ask how she was doing. The fact he hadn’t returned however many hours later made her stomach churn. Her anger wasn’t meant for him. Lena wasn’t sure who or what it was meant for, but she knew Eldric was the last person who deserved it. There was a water pitcher on the nightstand. With a sigh she reached for it and clumsily poured herself a cup with shivering hands. An uncomfortable throbbing still plagued her ears, the act of taking the cup of water to her lips felt sluggish and disjointed, as though she was experiencing herself through a thick disorienting fog. The feeling was too reminiscent of when she’d been laying on the ground bleeding. Like she was slowly leaking out of her own body. Sand slipping through shattered glass.
Lena sipped that water until her cup was empty. And as she went to place it back on the nightstand, the front door creaked open, and through it the sound of light footsteps approached her bedroom. Much too light to be Eldric.
“You’re awake.”
Madeline’s voice shouldn’t be a surprise. Lena startled anyway, the cup slipping out of her hand and hitting the edge of the nightstand before hitting the ground. She made no attempt to stop it falling, or to catch it. Mustering the focus felt like too much effort.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“Lena.”
Right. She wasn’t alone. Madeline entered the room in the wake of her silence, picked up the empty cup and set it in its place. Lena’s eyes followed the movement, but she stared at her through unfocused eyes.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
Maddie sighed and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. It was too dark in the room to see her expression, she was just a silhouette framed against the faint candlelight slipping through the partially open door.
“Eldric woke me up,” she explained. “He said you yelled him out of the room and he didn’t want to stress you out more so I’m letting him sleep at mine for tonight. Figured I should come check on you, though.”
“I’m...” Lena started, but then trailed off and shrugged. She wanted to say she was fine, but that would be a lie. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she said instead. “It’s not his fault.”
“He’s not angry, just concerned. And at a loss of how to help. We all are. Well...” Madeline breathed out a laugh. “Dani is actually pretty pissed, the only reason she hasn’t broken your damn door down is that your mother told her to give you space.”
Lena couldn’t help a chuckle of her own. “I know... I understand it must be frustrating, but there isn’t... There’s not much to be done. I’ve had half a mind to ask Eldric to leave me alone as well, but I just haven’t had the energy for that particular conversation. I don’t want anyone to be potentially harmed if something snaps, you know, in here,” she muttered, tapping two fingers against her own temple.
The implication wasn’t lost on Madeline. Her posture shifted from something casual to one of warning, as if the seriousness of the situation had only now dawned on her. “That serious?”
Lena hummed in affirmation, unsure what she could sincerely say that wouldn’t be cause for alarm. “The Healer said my mind latched on to something when I attacked that Hunter. I’m not sure what, I’m not sure it even matters to know; probably not, and because it seems unable to let go, I...” she trailed off, feeling a flash of searing pain assault the backs of her eyes. “Hmm...ph...”
“She never woke up.” Madeline said, under her breath. “The Hunter. When you lost control at the village, Sylvie suppressed you and everyone else woke up.”
“Yeah,” Lena muttered. “I think... I’m still in there on some level. Ever since Newhaven something has felt off. And while that wrongness had been, until recently, lurking in the back of my mind it’s starting to become overwhelming. I feel...” She stopped, rubbing her aching eyes, and tried to find the words to define the feeling. “When I look into a memory I see it through the eyes of whoever lived it. I am there. I am them. But also not. I am seeing what they saw but I don’t feel as though I’m there. It feels as though I’m floating in a void, watching the events through glass. It’s separate from me. Once it’s over, I’m back to reality, I can feel myself, I can feel air and fabric against my skin, I can breathe in the world and it feels alive, not just a projection. But lately... I... Hmm...”
“Is it different now?” Madeline asked.
“It’s blurred. It’s been blurring for a while, now that I think about it. A high pitched buzz has been plaguing my ears. I smell smoke and charred blood as if it had coated the inside of my nose for months, my body aches in ways that feel so viscerally real it takes every ounce of strength not to scream. I...
Lena trailed off, at a loss for words. Madeline sighed and reached for her shoulder. “Hey, are you still with me?”
“For the most part,” Lena said. “It’s floaty.”
“Okay,” Madeline said, the hold on Lena’s shoulder tightening a small amount. “Is there something I can do to help right now?”
Lena groaned, blindly searching the nightstand until her fingers closed around the wooden dodecahedron puzzle. She brought it close and tried to focus on the sensation of smooth polished wood under her finger tips. She twisted the puzzle pieces, then clicked them back into place. The sound was almost sobering and she found herself repeating the gesture in an almost frantic manner.
“Lena,” Madeline called, reminding her that she’d been asked a question.
“I’m not sure,” Lena answered. “Maybe just... talk. Give me something outside of my own head to focus on.”
“That makes sense,” Madeline mumbled. She stood up and glanced around the room between the numerous books scattered around the place. “Where’s the book we were reading last time I spent the night?”
Lena hummed, taking only a moment to recall which one it had been and pointing towards it in one of the higher shelves. “We stopped at the ballroom scene.”
“Right.” Madeline fished out the book with a disgruntled snort. “Why is there always a ballroom scene? I feel like it’s the third of these books we’ve read that features one.”
“They’re fun.” Lena shrugged. “It’s a good opportunity to force multiple characters together and create tension.”
“It’s a little overdone, is all I’m saying.” Madeline unceremoniously dropped the book next to Lena on the bed and stepped out of the room. Soon after she returned, carrying a lit candle which she placed on the nightstand. “How much do you want to bet the two characters who hate each other but will totally fall in love by the end of the book dance together and trade petty insults in this scene?”
“If something is overdone, it’s only because it works,” Lena argued.
Madeline huffed out a laugh as she picked up the book and plopped down on the bed in its place. She opened it and took her time finding the right page. “You can just admit you like formulaic romance crap, you know. You don’t need to get all defensive about it.”
“Shut up and read,” Lena grumbled.
Madeline once again chuckled, still slowly turning the book's pages, skimming through already visited passages. “Those parties are never as entertaining in real life, you know.”
“Of course I do. But if fiction was exactly like reality, what would be the point of it?”
“Fair point.” Madeline found the right page, but paused on it instead of reading as intended, her expression thoughtful.
“Have you been to many?” Lena asked.
“Not many, but I’ve been to a few,” she admitted, lowering the book. “I never saw the appeal of long cons, I didn’t like to linger around marks for very long. The more time you spend on a lie the probability of being discovered grows, but on occasion I did have to stick around long enough to play the part of a pretty thing hanging from someone’s arm.”
"Hard to imagine you that way," Lena admitted.
"What way? Pretty?" Madeline asked, laughter in her voice.
"A thing," Lena clarified. "Can't imagine you'd ever be keen on acting the part of the silent decoration."
"I didn’t have to like it, it was a means to an end. Just like you don't have to like killing people, you just have to be good at it."
Lena couldn’t help a note of bitter laughter. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t actually do that anymore.”
“I’ve noticed, but I also know you had quite the record. You are good at it.” Madeline raised the book again, her tone unassuming."Makes me question why you quit."
"I was promoted," Lena answered dryly.
“Far too early for someone as skilled as you,” Madeline pointed out. “The only reason I can think of for why you wouldn’t fight your mother on that decision is that you asked to be reassigned. For whatever reason.”
“I would be more comfortable granting your request if you could tell me why.”
“I don’t feel I can do it anymore. And I wouldn’t be serving the clan to the best of my ability if I were to continue. Isn’t that enough of a reason?”
“As your Alpha, yes, that’s enough. As your mother, Helena, something happened during this contract that you’re refusing to tell me.”
“I just... I don’t want to talk about it, mom. Please.”
Lena drew a sharp inhale, trying to ignore the faint smell of iron and roses permeating the depths of her subconscious. She wasn’t there. And she shouldn’t be allowing herself to go there, or anywhere, right now.
“Mads, you’re supposed to distract me from my memories, not dig into them,” she scolded.
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
Lena realized she must have looked or sounded as close to panic as she felt when Madeline was quick to agree. Normally she’d try to pry a little more if she thought she could get away with it.
“It’s okay. I just don’t want to remember that right now.” Or preferably ever, if she were to be honest, but even saying that much felt like an admission. “If I get through this though—”
“When,” Madeline interjected. “When you get through it.”
“If I get through this,” Lena said firmly. “Then, maybe I’ll consider this conversation, if you’re that curious. For now... Can you please just read the formulaic romance crap?”
Madeline wanted to argue. Lena could feel another "when" hanging just on the tip of her tongue, barely contained, but she didn’t say it. Instead, she calmly nodded and started to read.
----------------------------------------
[Wolves Camp | Cosmos 10th, 2526 | Late Night]
Reality became uncomfortable. Wakefulness felt like wearing shoes several sizes too small. Lena’s mood fluctuated between listless and dangerously irritable. The type of aggravation where the smallest thing made her want to scream. And her disposition towards others soured exponentially between their very existence getting on her nerves and her not wanting to be seen in a state of utter defeat. A part of her had grown far too tired to entertain rational thought. A part of her that was terrifyingly accepting of the notion that all she’d managed to do was buy herself a bit more time.
It was a spiteful little voice in the back of her head who believed bleeding out might have been much kinder on everyone involved. Lena was terrified of that voice. It felt wrong listening to it, to even entertain what it said, but if she was completely honest with herself, after everything that happened, it was starting to feel like the only thing that still made any sense.
Her room was still for most of the afternoon, and she remained stubbornly awake and stubbornly silent throughout. Even in the couple of instances her door opened and someone tried to draw some conversation out of her. Every awkward second someone else was in the room had her mind flashing through past interactions faster than she could process and she had no energy to explain how agonizing it felt. So she endured it until whoever her visitor was finally gave up and left her. The visits were more frequent some days, less frequent on others. She understood that her family was at a loss. They didn’t know what was better or worse, all they knew was to keep trying. Because if anything, stubbornness was a shared trait.
Sarah had heeded her request to stop visiting. And Lena wished she hadn’t been so harsh in making it. Dani had come to berate her for it the next day, and left in a huff when Lena didn’t know how to respond. That was the last time she’d visited and Lena lost track of how long ago that was. Could have been a week, could have been a year.
It surprised her to suddenly hear her sister’s voice in the middle of the night.
“...Come on, I know you’re not sleeping.” Dani’s words broke through her mental haze abruptly. She sounded angry, likely because it seemed as though some of them had been ignored.
Lena shook her head. When...? When did Dani come into the room? Why didn’t Lena notice? Had she even been awake?
“Lena.”
The call was stern. Almost in the tone their mother used when one of them had wrecked a bit too much havoc. Lena hummed, squinting when candlelight assaulted her eyes.
“Fuck, snuff that out” she muttered.
“Oh, there you go.” Dani sighed. The anger in her sister’s voice was surprisingly sobering, even as it quickly gave way to relief.
Lena groaned, rubbing her eyes to try and alleviate the sting from light. “Why are you here? What time is it?”
Dani ignored her questions at first. Lena could hear her pacing around the room, moving things around. Cleaning up, she assumed. “There’s an untouched bowl of stew on your living room table. Have you eaten at all today?”
Lena slowly lowered her hand from her eyes, tentatively opening them and finding the candlelight a little more tolerable now. “I think I did in the morning, I’m not sure.”
Dani hummed and briefly exited the room, then returned with said bowl of stew in her hands. “I’m here because I have something to give you, but you need to eat first.”
Lena eyed the bowl with a frown. The smell of stewed venison and spices was already causing a less than pleasant stirring in the pit of her stomach. “Is there a bread roll? I think I’ll have better luck keeping that down.”
Dani hummed and held out the bread for her to take. She sat the bowl down at the nightstand however, no doubt hoping Lena would eventually attempt to eat at least some of it.
“So, if you’re quite done treating me like a fussy child...” Lena sighed, attempting to reign in her temper. “It looks rather late, what is it that couldn’t possibly wait until morning?”
Dani snorted and sat on the edge of the bed. “If you’re not quite done acting like a fussy child, what choice do I have, really?” She smirked and tapped her chest, hitting something on the inside of her coat. “I’m not seeing you eat.”
Lena rolled her eyes, but bit into the bread roll, chewing slowly as she reached for her water pitcher and poured herself a cup to help push it down. Dani sat there and watched her eat until she was finished. As if she truly were a fussy child. Her stomach didn’t take kindly to the intrusion, but she drank more water and hoped it would settle down soon. In the meantime, Dani finally pulled something out of her inner coat pocket and placed it on the bed.
Lena instantly recognized the, now-not-so-freshly bound, leather tome. It was creased along the spine from how much it’d been handled, but it was surprisingly well-kept from the last time she’d seen it. “I gave this to Sarah on her birthday.”
“Yeah. That’s the one,” Dani said. “Open it.” When Lena hesitated, she chuckled. “Don’t look at me like I stole the kid’s diary from under her, just open it.”
Lena frowned, but opened the front cover of the journal. Immediately a folded page fell out onto her lap. She glanced at Dani and received a calm shrug in response. She picked up the page and opened it, being instantly met by Sarah’s familiar chicken scratch handwriting.
Hi.
When you gave me this journal you said I could write about things I wanted to remember or things I wanted to forget. I didn’t open it until after dad told us you got hurt. And I don’t know if I meant it to be about things I wanted to remember or forget. In the end it just ended up being about you. After you came home I stopped adding to it for a while, but... This passed two weeks I asked Dani to help me fill it out. She’s much better at writing than me anyways.
Mom told me you’re dealing with some bad memories. I know is not just that, but that’s how she knew to explain it, I guess. And I tought maybe having this can help to give you some good ones. Think of it like an early birthday gift maybe.
Love,
Sarah
P.S: Oh, mom said I can keep the raven. Thinking of calling it Ghost, but Dani said that’s too boring. What do you think?
Lena folded the page and set it aside, turning her attention to the book itself. The initial pages were mostly occupied by drawings. There had clearly been some changes in style since the last time she’d seen Sarah’s artwork. It was still distinctively hers, but the overly colorful lens of childish whimsy her art was once filtered through seemed to have dissipated. She continued to flip the pages until one of the drawings caught her eye. A very familiar solitary grave underneath the shade of a weeping willow. The only color on the page was from the golden flowers clinging to the tree branches.
“Spring,” she whispered. “I missed it.”
“There’ll be others,” Dani answered.
Lena hummed, looking up from the drawing and meeting her sister’s eyes. Dani’s expression was guarded, as if she was bracing for an argument that, frankly, Lena didn’t have the energy to initiate even if she wanted to. Instead, she averted her eyes and focused on browsing through the journal more. A couple more drawings went by and she found the first page of writing. It was clearly Dani’s handwriting. Just a rather dry and not very detailed account of one of their afternoons spent together by the river. Dani was much better at telling stories verbally and it was noticeable that she struggled to remember the full details of an event that occurred less than five years prior. But it was enough to surface the memory.
It’d been a pleasant day, especially by the river, it was the first time they’d taken Sarah swimming and Dani made the mistake of mentioning that they planned to cook the fish. One distraught tantrum later, they resigned to the fact they would be catching and releasing from then on, much to Dani’s discontent.
For a moment she could almost smell the damp earth along the river’s edge. Feel the warmth of mid-afternoon sun and a faint soothing breeze. She could hear Sarah complaining about touching worms and being made to sit still so as to not scare the fish. It surprised her and Dani both when she started talking about doing it again as they walked home empty-handed.
“I’m sure I remembered some stuff wrong,” Dani mumbled. “I don’t have your memory after all, and I was caught off guard a little bit. Sarah asked me what’s the earliest memory I have of you and I... I don’t know. It’s a weird thing to think about. As if someone had asked me when was the first time I noticed there’s sky over my head. I don’t have a specific moment, you’ve just always been there, right?”
Lena glanced at her sister as she scooched closer on the bed in order to read over her shoulder.
“I think you forget, though.” Dani laughed, and added, “Somehow you manage to forget... That I’ve known you my whole life too. And I’m not as smart as you—because, let’s face it, not many people are—but I’m not stupid. I know what you look like when you’re scared. Just because I’ve been nice enough in the past to pretend I didn’t see it when you tried hiding it, doesn’t mean it went over my head.”
Lena shook her head, flipping through the journal’s pages but not fully focused on them. She wanted to argue, to say that she was fine, but couldn’t find any strength left for that. “I don’t know how to fix this,” she admitted.
“Yes you do,” Dani said. “You taught me that when it comes down to the very worst case scenario out there, only one thing is going to keep you alive.”
“Your mind,” Lena recited.
“I know you didn’t mean it quite this literally, but, end of the day, that’s all you’ve done. You fought with the only weapon you had left. You lived.” Dani sighed, placing one arm around her shoulders. “And now you need to stop.”
Lena tried to draw a deep breath and it caught in her throat. She would have laughed if she were able. It was almost comical how for once she was the one cowering in her bed like a child, how it had suddenly become Dani’s place to comfort her. “I don’t know how to do that, kiddo.”
Dani let her head rest against Lena’s shoulder, squeezing her close. “You like to say I’ve always been fearless. And you know what? Of course I was. Because you were always there. What reasons could I possibly have to fear anything? I always knew, no matter what, that you’d keep me safe.” She sighed. “I know you don’t like to not be in complete control, I know that you’re scared of what can happen at any given time you’re not on full alert—and I understand why—but if you can’t trust yourself, at the very least I’m asking you to trust me when I say you’ll be okay. You’ll be safe. Stop fighting.”
Lena did laugh now. Only briefly, as the sound turned into a shuddering sob quicker than she could think to stop it. Her fingertips dug into Sarah’s journal with such force that she worried the pages might tear. Every subsequent sob seemed to go through her entire body with an overwhelming intensity. Lena couldn’t remember the last time she’d sobbed, if she even had. She was so used to putting on a front, it wouldn’t surprise her if this was the first time she’d been worn down enough to let it happen.
Dani didn’t seem one bit surprised or blindsided by her sudden outburst. It was clear this had been the intent behind this visit all along. And even through her distress and shame, Lena couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride as well. As much as she hated the circumstances, it was difficult to ignore how much her sister had grown in such a short amount of time. If she couldn’t find it in herself to be strong for her now, maybe that was okay. Because maybe, for once, she didn’t have to.