Page 3 of Fighting the Darkness

I climb out of bed, feeling better than I have in months. That’s not to say I feel good, because I don’t even know if that’s possible. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel good or happy without Freyr in my life, but I told my mom I was trying, and I really am. I know my brother would be disappointed in me at how I’ve handled his death. I don’t doubt that he would have handled it with much more grace if he’d been the one to live, and maybe that’s part of the problem.

Shaking my head, I jump into the shower and wash away the weeks of filth from my body. I avoid looking in the mirror as I pass it, afraid of what I’ll see. That’s a new habit of mine. Before the kidnapping, I was always concerned with my appearance. Let’s be real, I was vapid and shallow.

But now? I don’t care how I look because I’m a mess inside, and shouldn’t my outsides match my insides? At least that’s what I keep telling myself when I can’t be bothered to take care of my personal hygiene.

I dress quickly, never looking down at my body. I’ve lost a lot of weight over the last six months, and none of my clothes fit correctly. My mom bought me a few things in a smaller size, but more often than not, I wear Freyr’s clothes. I know it hurts Mom to see me in them, but sometimes they’re the only thing that gets me through the day.

Today, I pull on a pair of his workout shorts that barely stay on my hips, even tied as tightly as I can manage, and a t-shirt of his. I lift a hand to my stomach when it lets out a loud growling sound. I can’t even remember the last time I felt this hungry.

Maybe things are finally starting to turn around?

God, I hope so.

Pulling open the door to my room, I scan the hallway in both directions to make sure it’s empty before stepping into it. It’s not that I’m necessarily avoiding my mom, but after last night, I don’t think I can watch the sadness overtake her when she looks at me.

I make my way down to the kitchen, pausing around the corner when I hear voices.

“Thanks for coming by, Wilder. It’s always good to see you.” I can imagine my mom beaming at him even as a heavy weight presses down on my chest.

Wilder Finch, my brother’s best friend since they were six. A man I once considered a friend but who seems to have forgotten I ever existed.

I haven’t seen or heard from him since Freyr’s funeral. I hadn’t realized he’d been visiting my mom, and a sharp pain rushes through me at that realization. I really never meant anything to him, did I? And to think he’d been my first crush—one I’d never gotten over.

I wonder if he looks any different from how he had the last time I saw him.

“It’s been a few weeks since I saw you. What have you been up to?”

Wilder hums. “Just the same old, same old. Working for my dad when he needs me, and spending the rest of my time training.”

“You’re still fighting?” The disapproval is clear in my mom’s voice.

Wilder laughs. “Couldn’t tear me away with a pack of wild dogs. I have a fight tonight, actually.”

Tonight? I wonder if he’s still fighting at the same place he and my brother used to. Freyr always tried to get me to come watch him fight, but I couldn’t be bothered—something I greatly regret now. As a kid, I took dance classes while Freyr started karate. He fell in love with all forms of fighting from such a young age that by the time our parents realized it, it was too late. He started training to be a MMA fighter during our junior year of high school. From what I heard, he was really damn good at it, too. It was just another thing he and Wilder bonded over, both of them training at the same gym.

He said he wanted to go pro, much to our parents’ dismay. After all, as the only son, he was expected to take over our dad’s business when he retired. My dad told him he could keep fighting as long as he went to college and kept his grades up. Freyr did one better than that and came home every semester with straight A’s. He said his business classes were the easiest thing ever. Meanwhile, I’d been working on a graphic art degree that my dad thought was frivolous. He didn’t understand why I even bothered going to college when I would just marry rich and sit on my ass for the rest of my life while my husband took care of me.

That was when the first break in our relationship happened. At eighteen, I realized for the first time that my dad didn’t actually see me as a person. Sure, I didn’t have many interests outside of spending his money and hanging out with my friends, but that didn’t mean I expected someone to take care of me for the rest of my life.

Not that I ever finished my degree, and I guess I really do sit on my ass and let my parents take care of me now.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

“I hated that you and Freyr were so into MMA.” My mom sighs, and I can imagine her running her hands through her hair. “It’s just so dangerous. You could get hurt, and I would hate that to happen to you.”

I roll my eyes because I’ve even heard this a million times. She was so vehemently against my brother fighting, but it just seemed to make him want to do it more—to show her he was good enough to make it. That not every fighter ended up with a life-altering injury.

“Yes, Liv, I know how much you hate it. The club I fight at is very safe—just as safe as the pros. The owner used to fight professionally. I’m being as safe as I can be.” I bite my tongue to keep from laughing at the exasperation in his tone.

“I know you are, Wilder. You’re a good boy. I just can’t stop worrying about you. You’re the closest thing I have to a son now, and I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you.”

It falls silent in the kitchen as my mom’s words sink in. I lift a hand to my chest, rubbing at the almost constant pain in my chest.

When Wilder speaks again, his words are slow and deliberate. “I’m not a substitute for Freyr.”

“I know that! I just...” Mom sighs again. “I’m sorry. Of course you’re not. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were. Honestly, I’m just so worried about Freya, and she won’t let me help her. It feels like she’s withdrawing more and more every day. I can’t lose her too. She won’t talk to me about what’s going on, and she still refuses to speak to Erik. She blames him for Freyr’s death—“

“Can you blame her?” Wilder snorts. “It’s his fault that the two of them were kidnapped in the first place. He stuck his nose into something he shouldn’t have because he’s a greedy fucker. He has more money than he can spend in a lifetime, and he thought he could take on the mob? Then he refused to pay the ransom, even knowing who had his kids. What kind of asshole does that?”

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