Inversion [Camp NaNoWriMo July 2021]

day 14

d a y   1 4

Two days later, Cian finally returned from wherever he'd been.

I didn't even realize it at first. After waiting a second night for him, I'd finally given up and resigned myself to the knowledge that he'd come back when he wanted to. He owed me nothing, beyond letting me stay with him during this time. What he did and where he went during this time wasn't my business. So I returned to the apartment just after sundown, having spent another day sitting on a park bench and watching the teenagers all around me, trying to figure out where I'll fit into all that in two weeks' time. And it was only as I was about to slip into the guest room when I noticed the thin strip of light under the door across the hall. Cian's room.

I debated whether I should knock. It had been three days since he told me about his past, and we hadn't seen each other since. I didn't know what our dynamic would be like, how things might have changed. And a big part of me didn't want to find out right then, worn out as I was. So I quietly closed the door behind me and strode into the shower, letting the warm stream of water wash away all those thoughts. Just for the time being.

* * *

Flashing lights. The world spinning all around me, disorienting and terrifying. Screaming.

I don't feel the impact on my wrist, the cut of broken glass on my skin, the wet warmth of blood that shines thickly in the dim glow of the shattered headlights.

A name rasps from my throat, hoarse from the screaming, drowned out by the raging storm and the roaring in my ears. But only a dreadful silence answers me.

* * *

The car shakes with my crying. I can hear Jeremy calling my name from far away.

"Lyra!"

Not Jeremy.

I sit up abruptly, so quickly that Cian goes sprawling across the foot of the bed as he lunges backwards to prevent our foreheads from slamming into each other.

I raise shaking hands to my face, feeling the wetness on my cheeks. Brushing the tears away, I watch him watching me, not able to muster the energy to speak. More tears slip from my eyes, and I don't bother to wipe the new ones away.

Drained.

That's how I feel. I hadn't realized how much of a toll being alone had taken on me these past few days. I shove the thought away—the realization of how much I've come to depend on Cian's company. Not his friendship—or whatever this thing between us is—but just his presence, just something to keep me from drowning in that whirlpool of what-ifs.

"I heard you this time." Cian speaks first, after a long silence. His eyes are wide and dark, his face sad. Sympathetic. I can't even bring myself to bristle at that expression that I've seen so much of and hate more than anything else.

I don't reply.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

A mirror of a few nights ago. Where I had woken him up from his nightmares, offered to listen, to comfort him.

I still don't say anything. I've already told him about the nightmares, and he's already admitted that he can't help me. There's nothing left to say. So I just lie down, curling onto my side with my back to him, staring blankly at the wall, tears soaking into the pillow. My throat feels tight, and I wonder if I had been screaming. What I had been screaming, since Cian's presence tells me all I need to know about how much noise I had made.