Avalon
The repetitive pacing of Clarke’s footsteps was the only thing keeping my heavy eyelids from fully dropping. I was trying my best to stay awake, to be a sense of support and strength for her, but truth be told, I was exhausted.
I couldn’t imagine the amount of exhaustion Clarke was feeling, but I could tell by the slump in her shoulders and the bags settling under her eyes, she was about to pass out any moment.
The house shook as thunder rumbled and roared outside, the rain hitting the roof with loud angry thuds.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” Clarke muttered repeatedly, pressing her palms to her eardrums and shaking her head. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” she continued, over and over.
Was it the rain? The exhaustion? The overwhelming fear of watching her baby sister slip away before her eyes?
Not knowing what else to do, I stood and went to her, my arms outstretched. “Clarke, stop; you’ll wear yourself out.”
The other girl shook her head, still repeating her mantra. “Stop it, stop it, stop it.”
“Clarke, please,” I begged, making sure to keep my voice low so as not to spook her. “Let me hold you, or comfort you, please.”
There were another few shakes of her head, Clarke’s hands still pressed into her ears. I’m not even sure how she was able to hear me, but she knew I was speaking to her, trying what little I could to ease her pain.
“Stop it, please make it stop,” she cried out before quickly clamping her hands over her mouth, her eyes as wide as saucers. Her head whipped to Melody’s door as if somehow she had woken her up from her painful slumber.
Her light curls were damp from running from the Red House to the Farmhouse, sticking to her forehead and cheeks.
The bags beneath her eyes were puffy and red, swelling with tears she was too stubborn to let fall.
Her body trembled from the cold and wet clothes clinging to her body, yet still, she refused to leave the door.
Colton had driven the thirty minutes to town, hoping to bring Dr. Ferguson back with him. It was a feeble attempt but he was all we had. There was nothing and no one else close enough to help, not now.
Mr. King had entered Melody’s room the instant he had returned with us from the barn, keeping the door locked while he and his wife sat with their youngest child.
Through the pained and anguished cries of the girl I had begun to adore, I could make out the soft and muffled sounds of Mrs. King’s sobs and weak words.
“You are okay, you are safe; your father and I are here.” Her voice trembled with every syllable, a sob caught in her throat. She was trying her best to sound strong, to sound like her heart wasn’t breaking and her baby wasn’t dying.
I pulled my attention away from the door and turned it back to Clarke. She was still pacing and blinking rapidly, forcing herself to stay awake.
“Clarke, please, let me help you—“
“How?” She cried out, throwing her hands up, finally allowing the tears that had been pooling in her eyes to fall. They streaked her face, leaving a damp spot on her shirt as they dripped down her chin. “How the fuck can you help me? My sister is dying—“
Her words came to an abrupt stop, and with shaking hands she pressed her fingers to her lips. “This is all my fault, oh God, this is my fault.”
“Don’t do that,” I snapped sharply, still holding an arm out to her. “Don’t you dare do that to yourself; none of this was your fault, Melody is sick and she is fragile. You couldn’t have done this.”
The blonde girl shook her head and pressed the heels of her palms into her ears again. “No, no, you don’t understand,” she sobbed out. “I made this happen, in the barn with-with you, I thought it…my sister is dying and-and now she is.”
I wanted to tell her that was impossible, that no one could kill someone with their thoughts but I knew it would do us no good. But I couldn’t let her blame herself, the guilt would kill her.
“This was not. Your. Fault.” I repeated slowly and firmly, hoping my words would carry some form of weight. “What did your father say? She had an accident, her bones are basically made of glass…Clarke, this was not your fault.”
I touched her arm and she jumped, shying away from my touch.
“Please,” I tried again weakly. “Listen to me…” My voice trailed off as she slowly turned to me, an angry fire in her blue eyes.
Instinctively, I retracted my hand and stepped back; it wasn’t her eyes that were just angry, it was her entire body.
“I didn’t know this was happening because I was too caught up with you.
” Her voice was level and firm, her brows set in a sharp line.
“Ever since you arrived, I haven’t had enough time to pay attention to the people who actually needed me because…
of…you!” With that last word, she punched me in the shoulder.
That’s it. That’s that anger I needed to see; it meant she would no longer blame herself, the pain she was feeling needed a place to go and if she needed a punching bag, then I would stand here and let her hit me. Over and over again, for as long as it took.
“Hit me again.” I held her gaze, not once averting my eyes from hers. “If you need to hit something or hurt someone, hurt me. Take it out on me.”
She blinked once slowly, as if trying to fully wrap her head around what I was saying.
Holding out my arms, I braced myself. “Slap me, hit me, hurt me—because I know it’s better than taking it out on yourself.” I beckoned her forward with my fingers, urging her to release her rage and frustration. “It’s okay, Clarke.”
She inhaled a shuddered breath before nodding. And then she shoved me, a strangled sob in the back of her throat. She shoved me again and again, then the shoving turned into punching. Clarke hit my shoulder, the same one as before; over and over, each one harder than the other.
“It’s okay, baby,” I whispered, setting my jaw as she shoved me again. “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your fault, your fault,” she sobbed out, hitting my shoulder again.
I knew she didn’t mean it, not really. She was hurting and confused and needed somewhere to place her anger.
I was here and I was willing—if she needed me, even if it was just as something to hit, I would stay and I would remain in the place until she stopped.
“It’s okay, Clarke; I won’t go anywhere until you tell me to.” I caught her gaze and nodded again. “I promise I won’t leave you.”
She hit me again, this time much weaker than any of the others. She was growing tired, slowly succumbing to her exhaustion.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, burying her head into my shoulder. “I’m so sorry…I’m so…tired.” Her body slumped against mine and I quickly caught her in my arms.
Running my hand over her head, I held her as her sobs racked through her body. “I know, I know, baby; it’s okay.” I rocked her slowly, shushing her and keeping my hand on her head. “You’re okay, you are safe; I’m here.”
I repeated her mother’s words, hoping they would help even a tiny bit. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”
The front door creaked open, and I drew my eyes up to see Colton and Dr. Ferguson in the doorway. They were drenched to the bone despite their raincoats, their cowboy hats being the only thing that kept their vision clear.
As if he did not see us, Dr. Ferguson brushed past us and knocked quietly on Melody’s door. A few short moments later, Mr. King opened the door and ushered the doctor inside, closing and locking it immediately behind them.
Colton took a few hesitant steps forward, his face stricken and drawn. “Is she…”
I nodded and smoothed back some of Clarke’s stray curls from her forehead. She had stopped sobbing, but I could still feel her shaking in my arms; from the corner of my eyes I could see her taking slow and dazed blinks.
“She’s calmer now, she just needed…to release her anger.” I chose my words carefully, trying not to give away too much about what had just happened.
Colton’s dark blue eyes searched my face, trying to put the pieces together himself. The exhausted slump in his sister’s body, the slackness in my face, our tight embrace.
“Okay,” he said once, nodding his head. “Take her upstairs and get her out of those clothes, I’ll wait for answers.”
I nodded, silently obeying. I led Clarke up the stairs to the master bathroom, murmuring and whispering the best words of strength and encouragement I could muster.
“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe. I’m here.”