Page 15 of Riot

And Riot.

Fuck me.

Needing a distraction, I reach for my phone and check my notifications. There are messages in the group chat between me, Dayna, and Katie, and a rare slither of happiness spreads through me.

They didn’t leave me behind when I was deep in the pit with Link, but even they don’t know the ways I was shredded and left bleeding in the dirt.

I scan their conversation. They’re complaining about work, men, and shitty hair products that cost the earth and don’t work. It’s so normal, the kind of shit we would have talked about in the past, but that version of me is dead.

I’m a fucking freak.My broken pieces have been glued back together, but there’s no hiding the cracks left behind. Like a frayed wire, I’m disconnected from the circuit I used to belong to.

I shut the phone off, exhausted down to my bones, and head to the bathroom.

I feel nothing and too much at the same time. Every nerve is raw, exposed, and screaming beneath my skin.

I turn the shower on. The sound of the water tapping against the tray drips in time with the seconds I can’t seem to move through. It echoes in the silence, like it’s coming from somewhere far out of my reach.

I force myself under the spray and close the shower door behind me, automatically grabbing the soap.

I rub it into my skin as the water heats my tired body. The first pass doesn’t soothe me like I expect, so I lather my hands again.

I rub harder, deeper, like I can reach the muscle and veins below my skin, but I can still feel his touch on me, still sense the dirt even though I can’t see it.

This isn’t working.It isn’t enough.

My chest heaves like drawing a breath—something I’ve done my entire life—is suddenly impossible, and I snatch the exfoliating brush from the hook next to my head.

Then, I scrub. Every part of my body is scoured until flames lick down my arms and legs.

Pink tinges the water as it swirls down the drain, and pain stabs beneath my ribs.

What am I doing?

My heart is heavy and my stomach is hollow as I let my arm drop to my side, the brush slipping through my fingers.

I slide down the tile wall until I hit the shower tray, and then I let go. The tears come fast, heaving sobs working out of my throat, and I cover my mouth with my hand to muffle the sound.

I’ve never felt so dead inside and yet so aware of everything.

When the water runs cold, I somehow get to my feet and turn it off.

My body feels borrowed, like I’m wearing clothes that belong to someone else, and no one sees it. I’ve become a master at hiding my pain, but I hate the two sides of me that exist in disharmony—the real me and the one I let everyone else see.

It’s exhausting.

That thought is rolling around in my mind when I step back into the bedroom wrapped in a towel.

Then, my heart fucking stops.

Seren is gone.

Seren is fuckinggone.

I stare at the empty cot, a tidal wave of dread washing through me.

Time slows, the only movement the frantic pounding of my pulse.

I force calm into my body. If she was crying, my sister would have picked her up and taken her into another room.

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