9
EMERSYN
I wasn’t sure what prompted me to stop my miserating. I was on my back, head turned as I stared at the dark hearth, when I got the urge to light it. Where earlier the idea of hauling myself off the floor to get firewood seemed impossible, it now felt like the only thing I needed to do.
And, I needed to do it immediately.
The minute I stepped outside, my lungs inhaled the crisp forest air and each step after that was easier than the last. After I got the fire started, I decided I needed to go to the river.
My body rebelled. It wanted to sit down again and never get up, but instead I followed the urge and put one foot in front of the other until I found myself on the sandy shore.
I waded in and stood in the water for over an hour as I let the current tug gently at my legs, and watched as the minnows and fish swam past. At first my mind was just numb, exhausted after what I deduced had been several days of mania and terror.
But, after breathing in breath after breath of fresh mountain air, I gently coaxed the feelings back.
Because somewhere inside, I knew I couldn’t be numb anymore.
Despite the fear I felt at the thought of confronting the memories, I forced myself to sift through them and not retreat into the shadows again.
I didn’t want to forget my family, but at the same time, I had a lot of anger toward my dad that I didn’t know how to process.
“Why did you leave me?” I whispered.
Then, louder. “Why did you leave me?” I screamed—so loud I startled a flock of birds on the far bank. How would I ever forgive my dad for what he’d done? I know it wasn’t on purpose, but I was still so mad at him.
“Can you be brave for me?”
“That’s my girl.”
“I love you.”
I choked on the thought.
I waited—
I was brave, and I waited.
Angry tears flowed down my face and dropped like glass onto the surface of the river.
I wrapped the wilderness around me and listened to the sigh of the trees, as they whispered to each other in the wind.
It surprised me how mad I was at my dad for not fighting harder against Vetticus.
Even in that moment, I knew he was forced to hurt me.
I knew he couldn’t do anything about it and yet, when I looked back all I felt was rage.
If he really loved me, he would have fought harder.
The insidious lie crept through my mind, seductive and sharp.
Could I ever forgive him for abandoning me?
What if he was dead and I never got the chance?
I inhaled deeply, the sharpness of the air bit at my senses and filled me with fire. I dug my toes into the mud and sent my fear, anger and sadness outward, letting the wild help me hold it—finally admitting it was too big for me alone.
One day, I would walk out of here and find the answers that haunted me.
One day, I’d be who I needed to be.
But today—I’d let go of what I could, and hold what I couldn’t, and that would have to be enough.
By the time afternoon rolled around, I knew what I needed to do next.
I walked out of the river and didn’t stop until I stood in front of the mirror where I’d nailed up a towel to cover it.
I slowly pried one nail loose, then the other.
As the towel fell, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to steady myself.
No matter what I see, this is me and I’ll be okay.
I took another deep breath, and opened my eyes.
I had no expectations, but my reflection still came as a shock.
The person that stared back was haunted.
I wasn’t sure if I knew who this girl was.
Her eyes held a smoldering intensity that had burned up all the childhood innocence the blue depths used to have.
My lips were slightly tugged downward in a frown, and my brow was furrowed in a way that made me look defiant, as though daring someone to try and tell me what to do.
I ran my fingers over the scar on my face.
It was still red, raised and angry. My feelings were too fragile to really understand, too raw to feel one way or the other.
I knew it physically would fade with time, but I also knew it would always remind me of my Dad’s terror, and the horror we’d gone through.
I still wore borrowed clothes from Sacha. They swamped me, even when I rolled the sleeves. I made it work, but looking at myself now—I looked…lost.
I scowled at my reflection. That just wasn’t acceptable. I’d lost years of my life to people who’d taken everything I loved. I wasn’t going to be a victim any longer.
I didn’t want to be lost anymore.
I put my hand up to the glass. It was time to come home to myself; it was time to figure out who that stranger in the mirror was. I’d deal with the anger and sadness as it came, but I was done hiding away from the world.
I left the bathroom and walked outside, striding purposefully out to the meadow to start my workout routine I’d neglected for the last few days. I threw myself into the movements, using the strain and effort to focus my thoughts. Moving forward was the only way—it was the only way home to myself.
I may be starting out as the lost child forced to grow up too fast, but the woman I was going to become wasn’t going to be a victim, and she certainly wasn’t going to be helpless.