Page 46 of River & Rue

If I can prove to myself that what I create matters, that who I am matters, maybe I can rebuild what shattered inside me as a child. Until then, I’m one storm away from collapse, holding on with everything I have left.

I’ve always known the danger River represents. It’s why he puts me on edge. Why I’m combative and erratic when I’m near him.

Keeping him at a distance is survival instinct because he’s more than a little wind and rain.

He’s a hurricane.

That night, in the darkest hours before dawn, I wake up gasping and clawing at my chest.

My face is wet, my throat sore from crying out in my sleep. The nightmare clings like a parasite, prolonging and savoring my pain.

“Stay awake, Teddy. Stay awake! Don’t leave me. Just hold on. Please.”

“S’okay, Rue. I’ll be… be your brother in… next life too. Don’t forget… magic.”

This particular nightmare hasn’t plagued me in years, and I don’t remember it ever plaguing me multiple nights in a row. Tonight was night three and the worst yet. The closest to real, more memory than dream.

I curl around my pillow, shaking uncontrollably as I struggle to regulate my shallow breaths. Consumed by the effort, I don’t register the sound coming from the other side of the wall until it stops, then starts again.

Singing.

River is singing.

My mind latches onto his soft baritone like a life preserver. My muscles relax. My breathing deepens. By the time he finishes the song and starts another, my eyes are fluttering closed.

As I tumble toward a dreamless void, I hear a whisper. My words, River’s voice. Maybe aloud. Maybe in my mind.

“If you don’t release the pressure inside you, eventually you’ll implode.”

I imagine what I would say back if I were as brave and honest as I’ve pretended to be for so long.

I’m afraid if I let it go, there won’t be anything left of me.

River doesn’t respond.

But Teddy does.

“So you’re afraid. Big whoop. On the other side of fear is freedom—isn’t that what you told me?”

I was talking about climbing trees, not overcoming two decades’ worth of existential dread.

“Tomato, tomahto. Don’t be such a wuss. I’m the one afraid of heights, but if I were there, I’d drag you up that tree myself.”

We’re sticking with the tree symbology, huh? Fine. My climbing days are over. There’s too much at risk.

“Pfft. What are you risking, the cobwebs in your vagina?”

Wait—what? I thought you were working on a metaphor about overcoming fears.

“Nope. I’m talking about climbing a specific tree—six feet four inches tall with muscles for days and a big, thick branch to swing on.”

Teddy! Stop it right now.

“I’ll stop if you stop being boring. Climb. The. Tree. Climb. The. Tree…”

I fall asleep smiling.

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