Chapter 10
Laurie
It started with a wave of heat rushing behind my eyes, then a cold sweat that clung to my skin. I should have known this would happen. I should have expected it.
My vision swam, and the distant chatter of people in the park was swallowed by the dull roar in my ears. I was sinking, drowning in my own panic, and no matter how much I gasped for air, I just couldn’t get enough.
I vaguely registered River’s voice, calm and steady in my ear. She was trying to anchor me, murmuring gentle instructions. “Laurie… Can you hear me? You need to breathe.” But her words slurred around the pounding in my head.
“Is she okay?” someone asked, and their voice sounded very far away, like I was listening from a distance.
I began to rock on the bench—back and forth, back and forth. My head was filled with air, drifting from my body, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I heard a shaking sob through the rushing in my ears and realized it came from me.
“Yeah.” River’s voice, curt and clipped. “We can handle this, thanks.”
The world was spinning, and a well-meaning stranger was hovering beside us. I could vaguely make out the shape of them, but the details wouldn’t come into focus. They were talking to River over my head and I wanted to curl very small and scream for them both to shut up.
But River was one step ahead of me. “No, we’re fine. Can you back up, please—just give her some room.” Somehow, she delivered it in a way that sounded polite, and some distant part of my brain wondered how she managed it.
I was on the brink of explosion. Always. ‘Polite’ was not part of my repertoire.
Eventually, the stranger drifted off, leaving me tense on a bench, trying not to hyperventilate. River crouched beside me, a hand hovering near my own but never quite touching—and yet, somehow, I felt her presence all around me. She lay like a warm coat over my shoulders.
I swallowed a knot of panic, forcing air into my lungs. Try. Breathe. My mind was a storm, the world around me fragmenting as distant memories resurfaced. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the usual spiral into chaos.
But something was… different. A soft, almost intangible thread of calm unraveling the tight coil in my chest. It felt surreal, like a gentle nudge in the back of my head, a lantern illuminating a path through the dark.
I found myself leaning into that sensation, letting it guide me out of my frantic disorientation.
Slowly, painfully, the sharp spike of panic and bitter memories retreated back to the darker corners of my mind.
My lungs filled more evenly; the sickening wave of dizziness subsided.
I gulped air and clutched the bench until my knuckles blanched.
When the worst of it passed, I realized my cheeks were damp.
A flush of shame followed. I felt exposed, raw, and incredibly small. Whatever bravado I’d had going into this meeting was gone. Now River could see me for what I was, if she hadn’t put the pieces together already.
I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t even help myself. I was weak, and useless, and unhinged and—
“You did good.” River’s voice interrupted my spiraling and I snapped my eyes up to hers. She was smiling. It was a weak and weary curl of her lip, but she was smiling. “Feeling a little better?”
I nodded in stiff humiliation. “I’m fine.” I rasped the words out.
My throat felt dry, scorched like I’d been screaming. I was suddenly very, very tired. Exhaustion claimed my leaden limbs and it took everything in me to stay upright.
I had to get out of there.
“I should go—” I tried to rise from the bench. Failed. Tried again. “God dammit–”
When I stumbled, River caught my arm. Usually I would have pulled away, but her touch was light and my knees were buckling. So when she rose to her feet, I leaned into her.
“Laurie…” Her sigh was a warm breath near my ear. “Just let me help you.” Her resigned words held layers of meaning. She wanted to help me track down the organization, and she wanted to help me get home—and I was tired.
I was so very tired.
I kept my head down, awkwardly propped in her arms, and closed my eyes. It felt like defeat, but I forced myself to speak. I had no dignity left to protect anyway. “Okay.”
The walk to my apartment was a blur. By the time we reached the door, my limbs felt like jelly, the aftermath of adrenaline leaving me empty and trembling like a leaf. I fumbled with the keys, and River caught them before they could clang to the ground.
She braced me against her side with an arm around my shoulders and opened the door.
Her expression changed somewhat when her gaze flicked around the dim living room. I weathered the wave of mortification as she took in the clutter. The mess. The discarded trash bags from my half-hearted attempt at cleaning up.
River said nothing. Merely guided me to my sagging bed, helped me sit, and pressed a hand to my chest. I wanted to fight it. I wanted to push back, stand up, and defend the state of my home.
I wanted to explain myself, but I had nothing to say. Nothing that wouldn’t paint me as even more pathetic than I already felt. So I sank back against the pillows under the light pressure of her hand.
“Rest,” she murmured, stepping back once I’d lain down.
My bed squeaked as I jerked onto my side, facing the wall rather than taking in her expression. Fatigue rooted deep in my bones, pressing me into the mattress. I expected her to leave—maybe drop an awkward goodbye. Hell, I wanted her to leave. Because this was humiliating.
The wreck of my apartment would be the final nail in the coffin. She’d close that door and she wouldn’t look back. She would see that I had nothing to offer her. She would know that I was broken beyond repair.
But she didn’t leave. Instead, I heard the shuffle of movement behind me.
My eyelids felt unbearably heavy, and every muscle protested the idea of staying awake a moment longer. But River wasn’t leaving. Why?
I managed to roll over just enough to catch a glimpse of what she was up to—and found myself thoroughly confused.
River was picking up junk, dropping things into the abandoned trash bag with quiet commitment. She had her coat slung over the sofa and her shoes standing at the door, flitting around the small space like a modern-day Cinderella.
I stared, mouth slack, as she shoveled takeout boxes aside. When she glanced back at me, there was something vaguely apologetic about her expression, but it was topped with a smirk—like she knew some would call it intrusive and didn’t care. She was going to do it anyway.
I was too stumped to protest. Too drained to summon the energy to complain. And if I was being honest, the quiet shuffle of River moving around the apartment was… comforting.
She stepped lightly, moving slowly through the mess.
I watched, slanted on the mattress, head half-buried in a pillow I hadn’t washed in weeks.
Her footsteps were slow and careful, so as not to rattle me further, probably.
But the muted rustle of plastic bags, the soft click of cups being set on the counter—those small, ordinary sounds felt strangely soothing.
I tried to stay awake, to be on guard, to maybe scowl when she looked my way, just to make a point. But my eyes drooped with every shuffling step.
My body felt heavy, the earlier adrenaline ebbing away. No nightmares lapped at the edges of my mind yet. Just the quiet hiss of the faucet when River found the sink, the barely-there thud of a cupboard opening, the scratch of a chair leg. It all merged into a soft, unobtrusive rhythm.
A faint pang of embarrassment tried to stir in my chest—knowing she saw how I lived.
But right then, mortification took a back seat to exhaustion.
Maybe I should have been furious at her for meddling.
But I couldn’t conjure the anger. It just felt…
nice, if I allowed myself that fleeting indulgence.
So I let go. I let her do… whatever. Burrowing deeper into the pillows, I blew out a final, disgruntled exhale and closed my eyes.
Sleep claimed me with startling ease.
When I blinked awake again, the apartment was swathed in darkness. I turned my head, rubbing a knuckle at my bleary eyes.
The clock on my nightstand read just past four in the morning and the events of the day came rushing back all at once. My pulse jumped and I jolted upright—but no tendrils of night terrors followed me.
I felt… oddly calm. No screaming, no fear. I couldn’t recall any dreams at all, let alone the usual horrors.
My muddled mind remained mildly confused, the remnants of a deep sleep slowing my thoughts to a crawl. I squinted into the darkness, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Something was different. Actually, a few things were different.
The blanket was tucked around me, more neatly than I had ever managed myself.
The smell of stale takeout was less overwhelming, too.
A glance at the living room revealed a handful of garbage bags lined up by the door—River’s doing.
As the rest of my apartment took shape in the dark, I could make out dishes standing sentinel beside the sink—clean, stacked neatly.
A folded pile of laundry rested on the sofa.
River herself was gone now. So were her coat and shoes, not a trace of her left behind except a slightly cleaner apartment and the confliction she’d wrought in my head.
Part of me bristled at the thought of letting a vampire—someone I barely trusted—see so much of my life. She’d been knee-deep in my mess, and I shouldn’t have allowed that. Another part whispered that it wasn’t so awful, letting someone else carry a bit of the weight for once.
I stared at the empty living room, unsure if I wanted her back or if I preferred the solitude. In the end, I gave up my internal debate and flopped back onto the bed, letting that strange sense of calm settle over me.
Sinking back into that dreamless, quiet place that had once seemed so distant.