The Pull
Aviana
He didn’t catch me.
Pain pulses through every inch of me, a deep, throbbing ache that won’t let go. How far did I fall? Why didn’t he catch me? The questions swirl through my mind, tangling with the pounding in my skull, each thought slipping away before I can hold on to it.
Then—warmth.
Fingers brush over the back of my hand, slow and deliberate, tracing soft, feather-light patterns against my skin. Gentle, yet firm. Protective. The way they curl around mine sends a shiver through me, not from fear, but from something deeper, something safe.
Nightshade.
He’s here.
I want to tell him I know. I want to squeeze his hand, to let him know I feel him, that I hear the way his breath catches, that I can feel the way his hands tremble against mine. But I can’t. My body won’t listen, my eyelids too heavy to lift, weighed down by exhaustion and the relentless pounding in my head.
So I stay still. I let myself sink into his touch, let the soft, slow circles he traces against my skin anchor me.
And as his warmth seeps into me, I drift, slipping back into the quiet darkness, knowing he’s here.
***
Past
Age 1 6
I was miserable for weeks with the flu. The body aches, the fever, the relentless exhaustion—it was the worst I’d ever felt. But if there was one good thing that came out of it, it was Chloe. She took care of me like a real mother would, the best one I’ve had since my own. She made sure I had everything I needed, never once making me feel like a burden.
Even Ryan was allowed to put off his chores sometimes just to take care of me. He always grumbled when I had English Lit homework, but when I was sick and too weak to read, he never complained about picking up a book from my shelf and reading to me. He’d sit against my headboard, pull my head into his lap, and stroke my hair as he read, his fingers soft and slow, grounding me in a way that made me forget how much I hurt.
That was weeks ago. I’ve felt sluggish ever since, but today… today, I finally feel good enough to go down to the barn.
I finish my homework and glance out the window, hoping to see Ryan down there. I spot movement but can’t tell if it’s him. Before heading outside, I check his room—empty. Downstairs, I find Chloe working in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner.
“Hey, you’re home early,” I remark, leaning against the counter.
She smiles. “Yeah, we did a big surgery on a donkey today. Completely wiped us out, so we closed up shop.”
I scrunch my nose. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It was.” She wipes her hands on a towel before turning to me. “Speaking of work, have you thought about what you want to do after school? There aren’t many jobs out here in the country, but if you’re interested in animals, I could probably get you an internship at the clinic.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful, Chloe.” I smile, though the question tightens something in my chest. “I haven’t really thought about it yet, but I’ll keep my mind open to all possibilities.”
A voice interrupts before she can respond.
“All possibilities, huh?” Liam strolls into the kitchen, smirking. “So maybe a mechanic? I can show you a thing or two—get you helping with the tractors.”
Chloe sighs. “Liam, leave your sister alone. ”
“She isn’t my sister yet, Ma.” He shrugs. “You have to adopt her first.”
I roll my eyes, not in the mood for Liam’s antics. “Hey, is Ryan in the barn? He mentioned taking me riding today, but I didn’t see him in his room.”
“Ooooh, Ryan and Aviana, sitting in a tree — ”
“Liam!” Chloe snaps. “Knock it off. If only you could be half as nice to her as your brother is.”
Liam’s smirk widens as he steps closer—too close. His hand lands on my waist, his fingers pressing lightly against my side as he leans into my space.
“I’ve always been nice to the Little Screamer,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “I can’t help it if she hates me back.”
I force my expression to stay neutral, despite the disgust crawling up my spine. “I don’t hate you, Liam,” I say evenly. “I just find you—”
“Lies, Little Screamer. Don’t tell lies . ” His eyes gleam with something I don’t want to name.
But he’s right.
I do hate him. I hate the way he looks at me. I hate the way his fingers linger on my skin, like he has any right to touch me. I hate his presence.
And I haven’t thought about what I want to do after high school because all I want is to get out—as far away from here as possible, so I never have to see his face again.
But Ryan…
I want to be wherever he is.
But ever since that day in the barn—when he kissed me in a way that felt like something more—he hasn’t touched me like that again.
Maybe he regrets it.
Maybe he should.
But it felt right.
I know he felt it too—when he was in my bed late at night, holding me through my fever as I cried from the pain, whispering that I’d be okay. He has to feel it .
“Earth to Aviana!” Chloe sings, snapping me from my thoughts.
I blink. “Sorry, what?”
She nods toward the window. “I just saw Ryan pull up the drive. You can check if he’s still outside or if he headed to the barn. Just be back in time for dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She scoffs. “None of that, Missy. Go on, go have fun.”
She gives me a playful nudge toward the door, her warmth settling around me like a safety net.
The best mother I’ve had—since mine.
***
The steady beeping pulls me from the darkness, dragging me back into consciousness. My mind stirs, hazy and slow, still tangled in the remnants of a dream—warm hands tracing gentle circles on my skin, steady and protective. But something is different now. The hands wrapped around mine don’t feel the same. They’re familiar, but not the ones I need.
A voice cuts through the fog. Urgent. Pleading.
“Avi? Please wake up.”
Cade.
Why is he here? Who let him in?
Panic swells in my chest, but my body refuses to move. My limbs are heavy, my head throbbing with a dull, relentless ache. My fingers twitch, desperate to feel the warmth that was there before, the presence that anchored me.
Nightshade.
Where is he?
I try to breathe, try to make sense of the whirlwind in my mind. Cade’s voice comes again, closer this time.
“Avi, I know you’re in there. Squeeze my fingers—let me know you’re with me.”
He squeezes my hand, but I don’t respond. I don’t want to.
Because it’s not his hand I want to hold.
I want Nightshade.
Cade… bring him back to me .
The warmth vanishes, replaced by the sound of footsteps pacing, then stopping. A low voice cuts through the air.
“She’s in there. I know she is. I can feel her.”
Nightshade.
Cade answers—clipped, frustrated. “I know she is too.”
There’s a shift, the sensation of weightlessness, and then I’m being lifted—strong arms cradling me against a solid chest.
“What are you doing?” Cade demands.
“I’m going to hold her.” Nightshade’s voice is quieter now, but firm. “She needs me more than you right now, Cade. She doesn’t respond to you.”
“And she responds to you?” Cade’s tone is sharp, edged with jealousy.
Nightshade doesn’t hesitate. “Her breathing changes when I’m near. She knows it’s me. She knows who I am.”
Cade scoffs. “And who exactly are you?”
Silence.
Nightshade doesn’t answer.
Who are you, Nightshade? Tell him—tell me. Let me hear your name, see your face. Why do you feel so familiar? Why does your voice—without the distortion—stir something deep inside me? Why can’t I open my damn eyes and see you?
His fingers brush through my hair, slow, careful. “I heard them say she’ll be fine. They believe it was shock, not the fall itself.”
Cade exhales sharply, switching into clinical mode. “With trauma, if something triggers a buried memory, the mind can dissociate—to the point where the body becomes unresponsive. Some people go numb. Some stare blankly for hours. Some won’t eat, won’t sleep. In extreme cases, they can go catatonic. I just… I just wish we knew what triggered this.”
Nightshade’s hold tightens around me, his voice dark with accusation. “You didn’t catch her.”
Cade bristles. “That doesn’t make sense. In all the sessions we’ve had, she’s never mentioned falling, never talked about being left behind. Nothing like this has ever come up.”
Nightshade lets out a low, bitter laugh. “Her entire life, Cade. If you’d really listened to her, you’d know all she’s ever wanted is to be loved. She was passed from family to family—abused, discarded, treated like a plaything, a servant. She’s probably never felt safe a day in her life. And she finally started to trust you… and you let her fall.”
That isn’t true, Nightshade, I want to scream. I have felt love. Once.
With him.
With Ryan.
But he never felt it back.
Or did he… and just never acted on it?
Not after that day in the barn.
The day we kissed.
The memory crashes over me like a tidal wave, sweeping me away from the present, dragging me back to that dusty barn with the scent of hay thick in the air and the late afternoon sun cutting through the gaps in the wooden walls. I remember the way he looked at me—hesitant, torn. The way his fingers lingered on my skin, how his breath hitched just before he gave in.
The way his lips brushed mine—soft at first, testing, until something inside him snapped and he pulled me closer, deepening it, setting my whole world on fire.
For the first time in my life, I felt wanted.
For the first time, I thought maybe—just maybe—someone loved me the way I had always longed to be loved.
But then… he pulled away.
He looked at me like he regretted it.
And after that day, he never touched me like that again.
He went back to being Ryan, my best friend. The boy who sat beside me, read to me when I was sick, held me when I cried. But he never kissed me again. Never let himself get that close.
I used to wonder if he hated himself for it. If he felt guilty. If maybe, deep down, he wanted me too, but something stopped him.
Or maybe I was just fooling myself.
Maybe I was never meant to be loved the way I wanted to be.
Maybe that’s why I reach for Nightshade now—why my heart calls for him, even when my body can’t move. Because with him, I don’t have to wonder.
I just know.