Page 92 of Fanged Embrace
My spine stiffened and my hands balled to fists in my pockets.
Could it work? Could I push my own powers that far?
Was it worth the risk of potentially wrecking her mind?
Hunter’s brute-force memory scrubbing wouldn’t do the job right; erasing huge swaths would leave Laurie disoriented, maybe shattered further. But a surgeon’s touch—removing only the shards that cut the deepest—could at least dull the constant pain, muting the horror loop that played every time she closed her eyes.
The idea formed slowly, bit by bit, and my heartbeat ticked up tenfold.
Across the playground the bubble girl laughed again—bright and unbroken. I watched her sprint past, gap-toothedgrin stretched wide and carefree. Laurie deserved to smile like that.
Maybe I could help her do it.
I let myself into the house—our home, I’d decided—quietly, like the hinge-squeak might undo my resolve.
The koi glided beneath the hallway bridge, scales flashing pale gold in sunrise stripes, and the familiar smell of jasmine tea reached me from the kitchen, along with Laurie’s distinct scent.
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, giddy as the idea unfurled in my head—and deeply melancholic at the same time. Coming home to Laurie had become as natural as breathing, and that realization stung my eyes. I could not go back to an empty house. I would not return to wandering the hallways alone.
I pushed off the door and squared my shoulders.
I found Laurie at the table in the kitchen, mug cradled in both hands, vacant stare fixed on nothing in particular. She looked up when I stepped into the light.
“Hey,” her voice was soft with sleep but lined by the night’s unspoken rift. She tried for a smile anyway. It wobbled tense and fragile on her lips.
“Hey.” I eased into the chair opposite her, heartbeat climbing. No easy preamble. “Laurie, I want to give you something—or take something, technically.”
Her brows knit together and she slow-blinked across the table. “River, if this is about last night?—”
“It’s about your future.” I folded trembling fingers together. “You keep living with your head turned backward toward the past and I get it. The memories are too heavy and they’re dragging at your heels.” Laurie stiffened at the abruptbreakdown of her fragile mental state but I pressed on regardless. “I can’t erase them completely but… I think I can remove the worst of them. Ease the weight.”
Her face scrunched up and she slurped a quick sip of tea before replying with warranted skepticism. “River, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“I can take your memories,” I blurted out.
Then backtracked and rubbed at my eyes—and tried to come up with a better way to explain my half-baked idea. “Not all of them, not like a big mind-sweep or anything like that. Hunter can rip out memories in bulk, but that leaves jagged edges and gaps. I can be… gentle. Surgical. I’ll only take the shards you offer.”
I swallowed, palms sweating as Laurie’s tired eyes grew wider and wider.
“I’ve never actually tried it before but… maybe this could work. Maybe it could help.” I fought to keep my voice calm and steady, pouring my resolve into my words. “I want to help you.”
Steam spiraled from Laurie’s mug, frozen halfway to her lips. Silence ballooned, stretched taunt and tense the longer I held her gaze.
“How would it work?” she asked at last, voice barely more than a whisper.
“One memory at a time. We pick something contained—a moment, a snapshot that haunts you. You focus on it. I draw it out like a splinter.” I dared to reach across the short distance, grasping for her hand, but faltered and fell short. I rested my palm on the table between us instead. “When it’s gone, you won’t even remember it existed in the first place.”
Laurie lowered the mug, hand resting on the table inches from my own.
Minutes ticked by.
My palms grew sweaty, my fingers visibly trembling while I waited—anxious and eager—for her reply.
Finally, she exhaled slowly and her eyelids fluttered shut. When they opened again, I read the decision in the set of her jaw.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. We can try.”
We settled cross-legged on the rug in the living room, face-to-face, knees connecting. Morning light spilled across Laurie’s hair in pale stripes and painted her strained expression with golden flecks.
