10. Freya
10
FREYA
I have this bad feeling. This really bad feeling. I’m asleep right now. I know this is a nightmare, I know that , but everything in it feels real and I have a bad feeling.
I think I’m five, maybe six. I’m in the house we grew up in and I can hear them arguing in the kitchen. It’s my day to be upstairs. Allie’s all alone in the basement, but I’m not allowed to go down there. I was sitting by the basement door, tapping on the wood, when I heard the shouting. It’s my dad and the woman again.
She’s crying now, and I pad towards the kitchen in my fluffy socks. I peer through the open door. It’s the same woman as last time with the long blonde hair and faded blue jeans. She’s thinner now, like Allie was after she got sick for a week. There are small bruises on her arms too. I’m not sure I like the woman. She cries a lot, and she makes Dad mad.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she says, her voice shaking. “A cat, Arthur. I found it’s insides in the freezer. Perfectly dissected. That’s not normal.”
My father’s face is blank. He never looks like that when we’re out. I think he’s very good at pretending. “We’re not a normal family,” he says. “You know that. I’ve shown you that.”
He reaches a hand towards the woman’s face, but she pulls away and stands behind one of the kitchen chairs. She grips the back of the chair so hard I get scared she might break it. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I thought you might need reminding that you are a mother. That you don’t get to run away. That if you want our children to remain alive, you will do as I say.”
A sob breaks free. She looks away from him and for a second our eyes meet.
I yank myself away from the doorway and press my back against the wall. My heart is running a race inside of me. The bad feeling gets worse. I try to breathe quieter so I can hear what they’re saying.
“Let me take them to the house,” she pleads. “Let me take my daughters with me.”
“You know I can’t do that. I haven’t finished teaching them yet.”
I don’t know what he means by that. I thought the teachers at school taught us. I like school. I wish I could go every day. I wish I could go with Allie.
It goes quiet in the kitchen, so I risk peeling away from the wall and peeking inside again. I shouldn’t have.
The woman sees me, and I go still like I’m playing stuck in the mud, but she doesn’t tell my dad.
I become vaguely aware of the sweat on my skin, of the bedsheets tangled around my body. I don’t want to see what happens next. I don’t want to live this again. But I can’t wake up.
I want to tell the woman with the blonde hair to look away, that if she doesn’t my dad’s going to realize I’m here. I shout at her in my head, but she keeps her eyes on me. “Why can’t you take?—”
“Naughty, naughty.” The voice sends shivers crawling through me. “Eavesdropping is bad.”
I go to run but his fist grabs my ponytail and yanks me back. I fall over but he doesn’t let go and I’m dragged down the corridor.
I scream.
My eyes flick open wide, and I keep screaming. Shadows play in the dim hotel room, and I swear to god I’ve never felt terror like this. A dark form appears above me and I kick out until I realize it’s River.
The bedside light flicks on. River sits up and pulls me into his lap. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”
I cling to him, burying my damp face in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his aftershave calms me, pine with just a hint of apple. I can’t talk yet, but River just rocks me back and forth, his lips pressed to the top of my head.
I’m crying, silent tears streaming down my cheeks and onto River’s shoulder.
He rubs his hand up and down my arm. “I’m here. It wasn’t real, Freya.”
I slowly ground myself in the present. In the pressure of River’s arms around me. In the soft orange glow the lamp casts on the hotel room. My gun is on the bedside table. I’m safe. I. Am. safe.
But I think River’s wrong. I think my nightmare was real, or at least it was at one point.
I should tell him what I saw. I may not have fully understood the words at five, but I understood them now. I know who that woman was, and I should tell River.
I open my mouth to do just that, but I lock up. The fear I felt when I heard his voice, when that hand wrapped around my hair, overwhelms me. The air gets stuck in my chest and my breath turns shallow. I don’t understand it. I’m terrified of it. And I no longer want to be touched.
“I think I’m okay.” I force the words out and detangle myself from River’s hold. I don’t look at him, staring at the creases in the comforter instead.
“Freya.”
“I, uh, I’m going to go have a shower.” Sweat clings to every part of me and I have this overwhelming need to be clean. I move to get off the bed but River’s hand locks around my wrist.
“Talk to me first,” he says.
I finally look at him and shake my head.
“Yes.”
“No.” I tug on my wrist. “Let go.”
His grip tightens. My skin crawls.
“Please River, please let go.” The panic spits inside of me. “I don’t want to be touched. Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.”
His eyes widen and he lets go.
I scramble off the bed, heading for the door.
River swears and chases after me, slamming his palm against the door and holding it shut when I try to open it. He lifts his other hand and holds it up. “Okay. Okay. You don’t want to be touched.” His gaze flicks to the door. “If I let go, will you run?”
I don’t answer.
River presses his lips together. “Do you trust me?”
I breathe through my nose, trying to contain the simmering panic attack, and focus on his question. “Yes,” I say. I may not feel safe right now, but I know River won’t hurt me.
“In which case, I’m really sorry, but this is the best I can come up with at the moment.” He leans down and picks something up from among his discarded clothes.
I’m too lost in my mind to work out what he’s doing before he snaps a cuff around my wrist and attaches the other bracelet to his own wrist.
I stare at the silver metal. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not touching you. But I’m also not letting you go.” His voice is steady and even while mine trembles. “Tell me about the nightmare.”
I want to be mad at him but now he’s not touching me, some of the fear recedes and I can think clearly enough to know that I’m going to have to tell him eventually.
He leads me back to the bed and we climb on.
I cross my legs.
River sits next to me in just his pajama bottoms, one leg pulled up, the other stretched out along the bed. Our cuffed hands rest on the sheet between us.
“I won’t touch you. I promise. But I can’t help if you don’t talk to me,” River coaxes.
I dip my head and use the cuff of the shirt River put on me earlier to wipe my face. “I saw my mother,” I say. I take my first proper breath in what feels like an age and then I tell River about the rest of the nightmare.
“So, she didn’t live with you?” River asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. She felt like a stranger to me. She, uh, she didn’t look good.”
“What happened after she asked to take you and your sister with her?”
“I don’t know.” The images from the nightmare are already fading. “My dad must have seen me. He grabbed my hair and then I woke up. I don’t remember anything else.”
“It’s alright. You’ve done so well. When you’re feeling better Oz can help take you back into the memory.”
The dirty, unclean feeling I woke up with has faded away but now the same pit of dread that chewed at my stomach in the police station returns.
“I don’t want to.”
River nods. “I know. But we’ll be there with you. We’ll take it slow.”
My breath catches as my chest revolts. I turn away and put my back to the headboard, getting as much distance from River as the cuffs allow. “You don’t understand,” I say. “I’m not doing it. You can’t force me.”
“You’re right. I can’t force you and I would never do that.” River pulls on the cuff. “Can I hold your hand?”
I hesitate then nod.
He twines his fingers through mine, and I feel myself relax. He doesn’t say anything else. Just sits there, holding my hand.
I don’t panic this time. His hand in mine feels good. Right. It takes me a while to sort out the words in my head and then even longer to work up the nerve to say them. But River is a patient person. His presence is a calm aura, anchoring me until I’m ready.
I wet my lips and stare at myself in the mirrored doors of the closet.
My hair is a chaotic mess, and my eyes look sunken. I can’t go on like this. “My father made me do terrible things. I know that. I remember that,” I say. “But there are gaps.” I meet River’s eyes, deep brown and steady. “There are memories missing. What if—” I break off and try again. “What if he made me do more than I think? What if he made me a killer?”