Page 117 of When the Storm Breaks
Like something vital has been ripped fromme.
The ice stretches pale beneath the last dying streaks of sunlight, unbothered by the weight of time.
I reach for Calla’s hand before I think better of it—and the moment I feel her flinch, I curse myself silently.
But I don’t let her go. Instead, I guide her across the small, rocky beach, closer to the lake’s edge.
My boots stop where the ice begins.
I stare at it for a long moment, and I wonder—
If I stepped forward, would it break?
WouldI?
I spent months drowning anyway.
Silently.
Slowly.
I let go of Calla’s hand, mine falling uselessly to my side. Thecold bites through my jacket, but it’s nothing compared to the sudden shudder that racks through me—deep in my bones, impossible to shake.
And then I hear it.
Waves, crashing.
Water rushing into my ears.
Pulling me under.
My body locks up, stiff and tight. I fight to keep everything contained. To stop whatever’s breaking free inside me.
I don’t mean to speak. But the words claw their way out—hoarse, foreign, like they’re coming from somewhere outside of me.
“This is the last place she was seen.”
Calla shifts beside me. I know she’s looking at me now, waiting.
But I don’t turn. My gaze stays fixed ahead, pinned to the ice, trying to drown out the voice in my head begging me to step forward.
“My sister.”
The words taste awful. My voice wavers, and the sound of it twists something sharp and awful in my stomach.
They land heavy between us.
They always do.
No matter how many times I say it, it doesn’t feel real. Like maybe if I say it enough, the universe will fix itself. Like she’ll step out of the woods, half-smiling, half-annoyed, like I’m an idiot for ever doubting her.
Like she’ll slip into my apartment with the spare key.
Or crash through the bar doors, rolling her eyes at me like she used to.
Like she was never really gone at all.
I exhale, my hands flexing and unflexing at my sides.
