Page 51 of Jayson
But I know I’ll have to. Eventually, when the weight in my chest gets too heavy and my body starts to fold in on itself, I’ll peel back those sheets. I’ll slip between them like a trespasser, dragging my past in with me, dirtying the silence with my breath. I’ll lie there and pretend this room isn’t watching me back. Pretend the bed isn’t some kind of altar, waiting to swallow me whole.
Instead, I drift to the window. It’s so old, an ancient relic of the past, that the handle doesn’t turn. I push anyway. The glass rattles but doesn’t give. Outside, the estate spreads out in muted shades of green and gray, fog licking at the trees like some feral thing. It’s beautiful, in a gothic haunted manor sort of way. But the silence here isn’t peace. It’s a warning of things to come.
A low humming buzzes at the base of my skull—the kind that hints at memories you’ve tried to drown, clawing their way up for air.
I toss my bag on the chair. The wardrobe is empty, but smells of cedar and old perfume. Someone once lived in this room. I can feel them lingering in the shadows. Watching. Judging. Or maybe that’s just me.
I strip down and pull on an oversized sweater from my bag. The fabric is soft and familiar, the only comfort in an otherwise twisted scenario.
Night creeps in slowly, slithering up the walls. I stretch out on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The moonlight drips through the window, casting crooked shadows across the plaster. I trace the patterns with my eyes—lines that twist into shapes… then faces.
Intoherface.
I’m fourteen again.
The world feels wide and full of promise, like nothing bad could ever touch us. Not really.
We’re in the woods, and Riley’s laughing—loud and careless, theway she always did when she thought no one was watching. Like the world belonged to her. Like she couldn’t imagine it ever not bending to her will.
She has no idea what’s coming.
“Let’s go to the lake,” she says, eyes shining. “It’ll be iconic.”
And we go. Of course we go. Riley could’ve said let’s rob a bank and we’d have followed her into the vault.
The air grows colder as we near the water, the hush of the trees thick with secrets. The vodka burns in my throat as we pass the bottle around, hidden beneath hoodies and nervous giggles.
Someone dares someone else to take off their shirt, and then Riley’s already ahead of us, stripping down to her bra and panties without hesitation, a smirk curving her lips like a secret.
We wade into the lake, one by one, squealing and shivering and laughing like nothing in the world can touch us.
The moonlight paints the surface silver, glittering like a dream. Riley floats on her back, arms spread, hair fanned out around her like a crown of ink. She looks like a goddess. Untouchable.
I remember thinking we’d never grow old. That the night would last forever.
It doesn’t.
A twig snaps in the woods behind us.
We freeze.
Flashlights cut through the trees. Harsh voices follow—deep, male, too close. Too familiar. The cold in the air shifts. Becomes something else. Something that gnaws under the skin.
Then the hands come.
Big. Brutal. Unrelenting.
One grabs Riley by the arm. She thrashes. Another hand clamps over her mouth. She kicks, screams behind fingers pressed too tight.
Her eyes find mine.
She’s terrified.
She’s begging.
Do something.
My legs won’t move.
