I folded over myself, head and forearms on the ground. I couldn’t get in any air as the torrents of endless, gasping, guttural sobs ripped out of me.
Pure exhaustion was the only thing quieting the demons that whispered their songs to me. The crippling weeping eased into silent tears, then gave way to fits of sobbing when their melodies rang out once more.
Finally, when my body was wrung out, when every part of me hurt, when the pain wasn’t gone but the ability to cry was, I fell to my side and curled up in a ball.
My head rested on my arm, and I stared into oblivion as tears cascaded down my cheeks, their accumulation splashing softly as they hit the tile.
Each blink felt more labored than the last, until no amount of effort could make my eyes open again.
Chapter 39
Inky Truths
Icracked open my eyes the next morning to the same scene I’d blankly stared at before exhaustion had consumed me. I was empty, raw. My body ached to the bone, but the soreness paled in comparison to the jagged shards of glass piercing my heart.
My arm stung as I peeled myself off the ground. Dried, splattered tears marked the pristine tiles, and the sight of it brought on a fresh wave of sadness.
I was no longer in the shadowed sanctuary offered by the furniture when I stood, and my body protested at the brightness. My soul wanted nothing to do with the light, or the annoyingly perfect summer day that lay beyond these walls. I padded over to the windows and closed the curtains, making sure that not even a sliver of the intrusive light could find its way in.
Unwilling to fuss with the ostentatious number of pillows on the bed to get under the covers, I grabbed one of the small throw blankets I’d left on the chair and fell into bed. I blankly stared, sightless, toward the covered windows. Scenes played in my mind. Some connected to the thoughts that had brought me to my knees lastnight, others relived memories from the Summer Court—all moments that needed to be reconciled.
I wasn’t sure if I was working through them or not.
Either way, I didn’t care. Feeling anything right now was now well and truly beyond me.
Hours went by as I flowed in and out of consciousness, unable to register anything outside of my mind, even ignoring when Ava knocked on the door, followed by Thaddeus, twice. No. That wasn’t true. I wasn’t ignoring them, I didn’t have the capacity to do anything other than what I was doing—simply existing took everything I had.
I was eventually forced to pull myself out of bed and go to the lavatory. As I padded back, the tub looked inviting, and I turned on the faucet. Unwilling to wait for it to fill, I laid in it as the warm water made its way up my body. I breathed in the deep, comforting scent of the eucalyptus oil I’d added, and it reminded me of that first day, my first bath. It was a relief to think of something outside of what consumed me, even for a moment.
Later, as the bath ran cold, the hollowness in my chest had eased enough that I finally had thoughts beyond the trappings of my mind, like my need for food and water. I wasn’t sure how long it had been since I’d had either.
Wrapping myself in my silk robe, I headed for the door. I knew someone would be there watching over me. I unlocked it and pressed it open just enough to peek out. Squinting, my eyes protested as they adjusted to see a concerned Tarrin staring back at me.
“Nyleeria?” he said softly. But as quiet as his voice was, the sound was deafening. I winced.
“Ava,” I croaked.
Tarrin didn’t pry, he merely gave me a sad smile and turned down the hall. I could have wept with gratitude for that tender mercy.
Shortly after, a soft knock sounded before someone tested theknob. The door crept open only as much as necessary for her to slide in, Ava’s small figure silhouetted in the light.
I’d lit some candles and was sitting in front of the empty fireplace. It was the first time I’d sat here, normally opting for the garden view, or fresh air on the veranda. Neither was appealing to me.
Ava made her way over. I’m not sure what she saw in my face, what she read soul to soul, but her eyes were heavy with heartbreak.
“Oh, Nyleeria. What can I do?”
“Can you start the fire, please?” I asked, my voice weak.
Within minutes, the fire was crackling. She sat next to me, and I welcomed her silent presence.
After a time, she stood up. “I’m going to get you some water. What else can I bring you?” Her voice was so very tender, as if she was afraid her words could slay me.
“Can you bring me some writing supplies?” I’d realized in the bath that I needed to get these thoughts out of my mind. Maybe the ink would trap the demons within my pen strokes and stop them from haunting me—or at least keep them at bay.
“Anything else?”
“Chocolate cake and the cheese buns you make fresh every morning. And some fruit,” I added. It was an eclectic mix, to be sure, but right now, I could only handle things that brought me joy.
