Page 29 of Darkened Promises

Moshi ignores him and meows again. Nate sighs, scoops him up, and cradles him against his chest. The meowing stops, and Moshi releases a soft purr.

My brow rises, not expecting so much progress, and a pang hits me as I watch them. I can’t place why. I should be happy to see him doing so well, that they’re all doing okay.

But I’m not.

Their lives continued, even without me here.

Not having the energy to say anything, because everything I want to say feels tainted and cruel, I shuffle up the bed and crawl beneath the sheets. My mind’s screaming at me to lash out, to hurt everyone else so I’m not alone in this.

So I stay quiet, tuck my knees up to my chin, and curl around myself.

I can’t even help myself, let alone anyone else. Except that doesn’t matter; they all have each other.

Even Moshi’s doing better with them.

SIXTEEN

BRYNN

What am I supposed to say to her?

She’s…she’s had her whole world wrecked and torn apart, both her mind and body shredded and hurt. I don’t know how to soothe it, how to support her and be there for her.

A noise has me craning my neck to see Noah stepping from Nate’s room, shutting the door softly behind him.

“Bry? Can you make her something comforting? I want to see if she’ll eat something.”

I shoot upright from the sofa, the sudden movement causing black spots to flicker across my vision. “Yes, I can do that. I can make her something. I’ll do it now.”

A little unsteady, I rush into the kitchen as Max mutters, “Is she…okay?”

His throat sounds raw, the words abrasive as he struggles to get them out. My hands pause over the fridge handle as I wait for a response.

“She’s safe. That’s what matters. She’s bruised and hurt, and I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s coping with mentally. Everything else…we just have to be here for her and follow what she wants us to do.”

Max doesn’t say anything, the pained noise he makes is enough for the both of us.

My eyes squeeze shut, and they fill with hot tears.

This isn’t how life is supposed to go. It shouldn’t have to be this hard.

The condiments and jars rattle in the fridge drawer as I tug it open too sharply and retrieve the container of soup I made for lunch yesterday. I’ve not had the time or focus to spend as much time cooking. Throwing vegetables into the slow cooker was all I’d been able to muster the previous day, and now I’m grateful.

As the soup reheats, I toast some slices of homemade sourdough with some garlic butter, then make her a chamomile tea. Standing at Nate’s bedroom door, with the loaded tray in my hands, I can’t seem to cross the threshold.

I don’t know what to say or how to make things better for her, and I’m frozen. Not that I can make it better. No one can, and that’s the crux of it: watching someone you care so deeply about suffering and not being able to do something about it is horrible.

I watched my birth mother for years disappear down a deep pit of darkness, and nothing I could do or say would make it stop. There was never a point when she saw me and thought it was worth fighting to claw back. To keep fighting each day.

What if Rosy doesn’t want to do the same either? What if she gives up the fight and can’t see a way out?

Noah comes to stand beside me. He’s changed into a pair of flannel sleep pants and a navy T-shirt. I’m about to tell him that he can take her the food, but he pushes the door open and ushers me through.

“Hey, sweetheart. Bry’s brought you something, if you’re able to eat?” Noah says, crouching down at the side of the bed and stroking her hair softly. She’s so small, curled up tightly beneath the bedcovers, as if she’s trying to shrink enough to become invisible.

“Please? Just a little,” he repeats when she doesn’t say anything.

I move closer, unsure what to say or do. The tray rattles slightly in my hand, an unwelcome tremor shuddering through me. Even the noise doesn’t catch her attention; her gaze stays fixed on the bedsheets. She’s not here with us, not really.