A comforter was pulled up to River’s neck, the mattress beneath her was soft, and she was warm and toasty. By all accounts, she should’ve been content. At peace, even.
But something was missing. She could feel it in the depths of her soul.
River’s mind was still coming back to her as she reached out, patting the mattress beside her. The sheet was cool. Something inside River warped, and she felt it acutely. Because…
Oh, gods.
River shuddered, a full-body experience that wracked her from head to toe as her memories inundated her. They stacked on top of each other, worse and worse and fucking worse, until there were no gaps in her recollection.
She recalled every terrible, horrible thing that had happened. There was no hiding from her curse.
River moaned, the low sound betraying the agony she felt inside, and she looked around. The guest room in Ryker’s house was pretty—far too pretty for a dark, cursed person like her.
White lace curtains were drawn over the windows, and faint streams of muted sunlight shone through the fabric. It was comfortable, homey in a way that her room in Waterborn House never had been, even though her space there was at least three times the size.
A glance at the clock on the bedside table told her it was late afternoon. River couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept most of the day away. Maybe she should’ve been worried about that, but she had bigger problems.
Even though the room was well put-together and comforting, there was a darkness to it. A murky gloom that was reflected in River’s soul. The sunlight didn’t seem as bright as it should have been. The comforter, a pale violet, seemed faded. The rug was a dimmer blue than River remembered.
The clouds were still there.
Sitting up and clutching the comforter to her chest, River scanned the room. Her fingers twitched with the urge to pick up her phone and message Nikhail, but she didn’t know where the device had gone. She hadn’t seen it since before the storm.
“No,” she rasped, giving her head a shake.
She couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t let herself fall into that murky pit once again. Even though…
Her gaze dropped to her wrists, and the prohiberis shackles seemed blacker than before. Heavier, too. As if they were dragging her down, a weight she couldn’t shake.
They seemed more overwhelming than they had yesterday.
Eventually, River managed to haul herself out of bed. She shuffled to the ensuite bathroom. It was small, as were most of the original rooms in the farmhouse, but that didn’t bother her.
She took care of her needs and washed her hands before removing her clothes. Leaving them in a pile on the floor, she climbed into the shower, turning the knob all the way to the right.
Glacial water pelted her body, each drop of rain as cold as ice. River’s teeth clattered as she poured shampoo into her palm. She stepped out of the chilly stream long enough to lather her hair. Then, she was back beneath it once more.
Her fingers trembled, and goose bumps erupted on her flesh as she rinsed her hair. She repeated the steps for conditioner, and once more to wash her body.
At some point, tears started flowing down River’s cheeks, mingling with the cold water pouring over her. She stood in a pool of suds, frigid water, and tears, and lost herself in her grief. In her pain. In the emptiness that was doomed to be her reality for the rest of her life.
River wasn’t sure how long she stayed in the shower before she reached over with a trembling hand, her skin as wrinkled as a raisin, and turned off the water. More time slipped by as she stood in the cold air, shivering. Naked. Alone.
Always fuckingalone.
Eventually, River stepped out of the shower. She wrapped a towel around herself and ran a brush through her wet hair, shivering through it all. The cold had wormed its way into her bones and settled there, preparing to remain there for an extended period.
Even the cream-colored wool sweater and leggings that she found on her bed weren’t enough to shake off the cold. Brynleigh must’ve dropped them off. River added a thick pair of black socks, rolling them up to her calves, and braided her wet hair with shaking fingers.
River didn’t complain, not even in her mind, when a chill wracked her body from head to toe. This was her punishment.
Eliza Fern, River’s therapist, might’ve had something to say about this, but River didn’t want to think about therapy or mantras or talking about her pain. Not right now, not so soon after breaking. Maybe not ever again.
That was the thing about being broken.
Being this way was excruciating. All of River was hurting, right down to her soul. But sometimes, being broken was easier than trying to pick up the pieces. Healing wasn’t easy or painless. This, River knew from experience. Repairing herself after the Incident had almost killed her, and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to do it again.
Yes, the clouds were heavy….