And everything, everything, comes spilling out. Like a broken bottle, its contents leaked past the cracks.
Truth be told, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel full again.
I sob and I grieve, and it’s not subtle or quiet, but a violent wracking of mourning that digs itself out of me and lands in a messy, hurtful heap. But all the while, Slade squeezes my hand and Digby stands watch.
I may be empty, but I am not alone.
And that, at least, is something.
CHAPTER 18
AUREN
When you hit rock bottom, you feel it.
You break down, walls crumbling until you’re free-falling. The feelings that you tried to run from suddenly rush up around you in an unstoppable force, the gravity of your thoughts now nothing but a punishing plunge.
When you slam into the bottom, that landing jolts you all the way to your very soul. You hit hard, and it cracks the very foundation of the world. The ground fragments beneath you, lines stretching far and wide.
And then you’re left, a pile of rubble.
But I realize something as I lie here, surrounded by the destruction of my plummet. These cracks that have spread out from my caustic landing, they’re not evidence of my ruination.
They’re paths.
Each jagged line leads from me and then diverts away, showing me all the different ways I could go from here.
I lie on the bed with Hojat’s hands tending to my hacked back, with tears streaking down my face, where even breathing hurts. But I’m also in my mind, staring at the fissures around me, seeing where each one leads. Because now that I’m forced to feel what I didn’t want to, I have a decision to make.
I can choose to stay stagnant here, at the bottom of the cliff, broken and unmoving. I can rage, I can wallow, I can blame, I can hide. I can let the severed parts of me sever all the rest.
Or I can get up, dust myself off, and look back up. I can find a path that ensures I’ll never fall again, ensures that I don’t lose any more parts of myself. All I have to do is turn and follow my feet, one step at a time.
So that’s what I’ll do.
I let myself cry until all my tears dry up. It’s not ragged or turbulent anymore. Instead, it’s quiet. Slow. The kind of tears your expression lets fall without fanfare. There is no choked breathing or scrunched up nose. No pulled lips or furrowed brow. This is the suffering of the silent. A hurt so deep it doesn’t show itself on a face. The tears fall down my wooden expression, leaking from slowly blinking eyes while I stare at my reflection through the window. While I grieve for twenty-four strands of me that have been plucked away like petals from a flower.
When Hojat finishes, he’s treated the wounds, my nose long since acclimated to the scent of the sharp herbs. I don’t know if he did something to help dull the pain or if I’ve simply gone numb, but I barely feel a thing now.
He’s also given me a new oversized shirt that he has me wear backwards, so all the buttons are down my spine, making it easier to tend to my wounds.
“Alright, Lady Auren,” he says quietly. “It’s all done now.”
It’s all done now, I tell myself. So I wipe away the last of my tears and take a deep breath.
“Thank you, Hojat.” My voice comes out as a mere rasp, but the mender hears, because he gives a gentle pat on my shoulder.
“I’ll need to check it each day for a while until the healing process speeds up.”
I nod, feeling wrung out, lethargy tugging at my bones.
“Sir Digby?” Hojat says. “How about I take a look at you next?”
When Digby doesn’t reply, I turn my head to face him. He’s still standing sentry in the doorway, and I don’t think his gaze has left me for even a second. I notice how heavily he’s leaning against the wall, how his arm is tucked in tight against his ribs and how one leg seems to be giving him trouble. He won’t go without prompting, just like he never once ducked out early on a shift to guard me.
I give him a nod. “Your turn, Dig.”
He hesitates for a moment before his eyes pass over me and land on Slade. I’m not sure what the two men communicate, but Digby glances back at me with a tilt of his head, and then he and Hojat walk out, closing the door behind them.
As soon as they’re gone, I start to sit up, and Slade is instantly there to help me. Despite how much I’ve been sleeping, my body feels exhausted again, but my mind is too wired to sleep.
I hold the borrowed shirt against my chest, the back still undone. “Can I clean up a little?”
“Of course.” Slade helps me to my feet and leads me to an attached washroom. It’s small but clean, with a round tub, a washbasin, toilet, and a wooden vanity.