Chapter 19 Ressa
RESSA
Ipull the blanket tighter around my shoulders, staring at the same crack in the wall I've been studying for the past hour. Two days since I told Falla the week was over. Two days of sitting alone in this cabin while my thoughts chase themselves in vicious circles.
The rational part of my brain knows I fucked up. Knows I hurt someone who'd been nothing but patient and kind. Knows I let old fears poison something good before it even had a chance to grow.
The rest of me keeps replaying that morning—waking up with Falla's arm around my waist, his warmth pressed against my back, his breath stirring my hair. For one perfect moment before full consciousness returned, I'd felt safe. Content. Like maybe I could have this.
Then reality crashed in hard enough to stop my lungs.
I'd let my guard down around an orc.
Not just let it down—obliterated it completely. Invited him into my bed, into my body, gave him access to the most vulnerable parts of myself while I was naked and trusting and his for the taking.
The panic had been immediate. Overwhelming. Every instinct screaming that I'd made a terrible mistake, that I'd given him power over me I could never take back, that waking up next to him meant something permanent I wasn't ready for.
Meant he thought he owned me now.
I'd needed him gone. Needed space between us before that irrational terror consumed me entirely. So I'd put on my armor—the careful neutral face, the polite distance, the clear dismissal. Watched him absorb each word like a physical blow and told myself it was necessary.
Told myself I was protecting us both.
Except the armor doesn't work anymore. Hasn't worked since the moment he walked out my door looking like I'd gutted him.
I draw my knees up, pressing my forehead against them while my chest constricts. The memories are worse now. Louder. Like pushing Falla away opened some floodgate I'd been keeping sealed through sheer force of will.
Hands holding me down. Laughter as I struggled. Pain that went on and on until I couldn't tell where my body ended and the hurt began.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to breathe through the rising panic.
These aren't new memories. I've lived with them every day since Kai and the others pulled me from that Stonevein camp.
The difference is that before this week, I could manage them.
Could lock them away in some mental box and function around their edges.
Now they bleed into everything.
Because I let myself feel safe with Falla. Let myself believe that maybe not all orcs were monsters. That maybe I could trust one enough to be vulnerable again.
And the second I woke up next to him, my brain couldn't handle the cognitive dissonance. Couldn't reconcile orc with safe while fear chemicals flooded my system and old trauma screamed warnings I couldn't ignore.
So I panicked. Pushed him away. Chose familiar isolation over terrifying intimacy because at least I know how to survive alone.
Except I don't want to be alone anymore.
The thought sits heavy in my chest, undeniable despite every instinct telling me to bury it. I don't want to hide in this cabin avoiding the world. Don't want to spend my days managing fear and my nights fighting nightmares.
I want to laugh at Falla's dry observations. Want to feel his hands gentle on my skin. Want to watch him create rainbows with quiet focus while sunlight catches in his blue-green eyes.
I want him.
But wanting isn't enough when fear keeps its claws buried so deep I can't think past their grip. When waking up next to him sent me spiraling so hard I couldn't even articulate why except that he's an orc and orcs hurt me and my body knows that truth in ways my mind can't override.
He hasn't come to check on me. Two days of silence after weeks of regular visits to monitor my healing. The absence feels deliberate. Final.
I told him we were done, so he's respecting my wishes. Giving me exactly what I asked for.
Why does getting what I asked for feel like punishment?
A knock at my door makes me jolt, my heart immediately racing. I consider not answering. Pretending I'm not home even though smoke from my small fire clearly marks my presence.
"Ressa?" Saela's voice carries through the wood. "I know you're in there."
Shae's lower tone follows. "We brought tea. And food. And we're not leaving until you let us in."
My chest tightens further. I'm not ready for this conversation. Not ready to see Saela's knowing eyes or Shae's motherly concern. Not ready to admit out loud that I ruined something good because my brain can't tell the difference between past and present.
But they're not going away. And part of me—the part that's been drowning in isolation these past two days—desperately wants someone to throw me a rope.
I force myself to stand, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders like armor as I cross to the door. My reflection in the small mirror catches my attention—hollow eyes, pale skin, hair I haven't properly brushed since that morning. I look exactly like I did in those first terrible weeks.
Look like I'm disappearing again.
The door opens to reveal both women on my small porch, concern clear on their faces. Saela's gray-green eyes scan me head to toe, her mouth tightening. Shae balances a basket that smells like bread and something savory.
"Oh, honey." Shae's voice carries such gentle sympathy I have to look away. "Can we come in?"
I step back wordlessly, letting them enter. Saela moves past me with familiar ease—we've shared enough space over the years that she doesn't need invitation. Shae follows more carefully, her warm green eyes taking in the cabin's state.
It's not good. Dishes pile in the small basin. The blankets from my bed trail across the floor where I've been dragging them to the chair. Everything looks exactly like someone's been hiding from the world.
"When's the last time you ate?" Saela asks bluntly, already unpacking Shae's basket.
"Yesterday. Maybe." I can't actually remember. Time's been strange, hours blurring together into one long stretch of anxiety.
Shae guides me toward the chair with gentle hands, settling me down before I can protest. "We'll fix that. And then we're going to talk about what's going on."
"Nothing's—"
"Don't." Saela's tone brooks no argument. "Two days ago you were happy. Laughing. You and Falla were attached at the hip during the feast and you looked more alive than I've seen you since..." She trails off, but we both know how that sentence ends.
Since before Nia died. Since before everything went to hell.
Shae sets a steaming cup in my hands—the same tea Falla always makes me drink. The irony tastes bitter. "We thought you two were doing so well together."
The words crack something in my chest. "We were."
"Then what happened?" Saela pulls another chair closer, sitting so we're eye level. "Because you're back to hiding in here like those first weeks and Falla looks like someone carved his heart out."
Guilt joins the anxiety churning in my stomach. "You've seen him?"
"Shae went to his shop." Saela looks at the orc.
Shae nods. "That's what's strange. He hasn't left the healing house at all, which is unlike him." She gives me a knowing look. "And he wouldn't even talk about you when I ask."
So he really is done. Really took my dismissal at face value and decided to respect my boundaries exactly like I asked.
Why does that make everything worse?
"Tell us what happened," Shae says softly. "Whatever it is, we can help."
I wrap both hands around the warm cup, using its heat to anchor myself. "I panicked."
"About what?"
"About—" The words stick in my throat. I force them out anyway. "About waking up next to an orc."
Silence follows my admission. Not judgment—Saela's seen enough of my trauma to understand where this comes from and Shae has been nothing but empathetic. But the quiet still feels heavy with unspoken questions.
"You slept with him," Saela says carefully. Not a question.
I nod, heat crawling up my neck despite everything. "The night of the feast. I invited him in. I wanted to. I wanted him." The emphasis comes out desperate. "It was good. He was perfect. So careful and patient and—"
"But you woke up afraid," Shae finishes gently.
"Not at first." I take a shaky breath. "At first I just felt... safe. Content. And then I realized what that meant. That I'd let him that close. That I'd been completely vulnerable with someone who could—"
"Could what?" Saela's voice sharpens. "Hurt you? Ressa, Falla would never—"
"I know that." The words come out too loud, too raw. "I know he wouldn't. I know this clan isn't like the Stonevein. I know he's been nothing but kind and patient and gentle with me. I know all of that logically."
"But the fear doesn't care about logic," Shae says with understanding that makes my eyes burn.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"So you pushed him away." Saela's tone carries no accusation, just sad comprehension.
"I thanked him for being a good partner and made it clear I wanted space." The memory of his face—carefully neutral except for that flash of hurt in his blue-green eyes—makes my chest constrict. "He didn't argue. Just... left."
"Because he respects your boundaries," Shae says. "Even when it clearly hurt him to do it."
That makes it worse. Makes me feel like I've punished him for being exactly what I needed—someone who won't push, won't demand, won't take what I'm not ready to give.
"I didn't mean to hurt him." My voice cracks. "I just—I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the fear. And now I've ruined everything because I'm too broken to—"
"Stop." Saela's hand covers mine, her grip firm. "You're not broken. You're healing from serious trauma. There's a difference."
"Healing people don't spiral this hard from waking up next to someone they trust."