Page 127 of Break Me

My arms hang uselessly by my sides as I try to imagine walking inside and sitting at the kitchen table. Pretending this is a normal afternoon.

I can’t.

Nothing about this is normal. Nothing about this is okay.

Raven asked for a few minutes. I give them to her. But I can’t stay here listening to the suffocating silence.

I don’t call after her.

I don’t tell her where I’m going.

I don’t trust my voice.

I just need movement.

The engine roars to life beneath me, steady and familiar, louder than the silence surrounding me.

For a second, I wonder if she hears it. If she knows I’m not leaving her. That I’m just trying to outrun the word weeks.

I pull out of the driveway and let the road lead me.

Right now, it's the only thing I know how to do.

Raven

The engine echoes through the trees as I walk away. It grows quieter with every step until the woods swallow the sound completely.

He couldn’t stay.

I don’t blame him.

I couldn’t either.

Slipping my shoes off, I leave them in the grass before heading toward the creek.

The ground is still warm beneath my feet, the blades of grass soft against my skin. Early September has a way of pretending summer will last forever. Most of the leaves are still green, but every now and then one lets go, drifting lazily to the ground before the others are ready.

The creek runs steady beyond the tree line.

I’ve only known it in warmth. In spring, when the rain swelled it wide and fast, and the water rushed loud enough to drown out everything else. And in summer, when it settled into something slower, sunlight catching on the surface, turning it bright and careless.

I haven’t seen it frozen. I haven’t watched ice gather along the edges or snow settle over the rocks.

I thought I would.

I thought I’d see it through every season. That we’d stand here together when the leaves turned and when the first frost came.

I imagined there’d be small hands in the water one day. Laughter echoing off the banks. Wolf would be standing behind me, pretending he wasn’t worried they’d slip on the rocks.

I thought we’d have so much time.

The water moves past me, indifferent to what I assumed.

It’ll freeze.

It’ll thaw.

It’ll carry on into spring again.