Briar Valley: The Complete Duet

32. Willow

CHAPTER 32

WILLOW

ANOTHER LIFE - MOTIONLESS IN WHITE

Closing the door to the cabin, I rest my head against the slab of wood. The rest of the guests made a hasty exit after Lola and Katie started screaming at each other. Albie quickly dragged them apart before they actually began fighting too.

I left Arianna outside with the guys to keep her out of earshot. Ryder and Ethan are handling clean-up duty to give us some time to sort through this mess in the privacy of my cabin.

“Willow?” Lola says softly. “Come sit down, poppet.”

“Give me a sec,” I mutter.

Rummaging in the back of the kitchen cabinet, I find Zach’s secret bottle of whiskey. He’s been saving it for strip poker. Gathering three glasses, I walk into the living room with my eyes on my feet, unable to look at the two seething women.

“Drink?”

“Please,” Lola answers.

Pouring us all a generous measure, I hand out the drinks and lean against the wall in the furthermost corner of the room. I need as much space between us as possible.

“Is it true?” Katie snaps at Lola.

She clears her throat. “Yes, it’s true. Willow is my granddaughter.”

“This is… it’s… what the fuck?” she splutters. “How could you keep this from me? We speak every single week, and you didn’t think to mention that you found my daughter?”

“She was protecting me,” I interrupt. “I wasn’t ready for you to know who I really am. Lola gave me time to come to terms with the truth.”

“What truth?” Katie exclaims angrily.

Pain lances through my broken heart.

“Well… I thought you abandoned me.”

Tears stream down her cheeks. “You thought I left you behind?”

“Something like that.”

She moves to stand up and approach me, but I hold her back with a raised hand. If she tries to hug me, I won’t be able to hold my broken pieces together for a second longer.

“That’s what Jack told her,” Lola explains gently. “He lied and said that you left willingly. She was raised to believe that you wanted nothing to do with her.”

“This is ridiculous!” Katie shouts.

My hands ball into fists. “One day you were there, the next you were gone. I was just a kid. What was I supposed to think? I was a scared little girl who missed her mum.”

“I never left you. Jack took you from me.”

“I didn’t know that, Katie. He lied to me.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps through her coursing tears. “I’m your mum, for Christ’s sake. I’ve always been your mum.”

“You’re not,” I say sadly.

Her crying increases until she’s hiccupping through every breath. Even Lola’s sunken cheeks are wet with tears. I want to cry. I want to mourn. The mother I needed was taken away from me, but all I feel is regret.

That damned letter!

If only I’d had the bravery to follow its handwritten words, instead of allowing fear to dictate my future. I was a kid, but I’d lived enough by then to know better. Katie was at the other end of that desperate call into the darkness.

“I’m sorry he took me from you. When dad died, I was so afraid. The world was a scary place and I convinced myself that I was better off alone.”

Katie’s shoulders shake with heaving sobs. “I looked for you every single day for fifteen years. Every day. I never gave up, and I scoured the entire country in search of you.”

“It’s true,” Lola confirms. “She never stopped.”

“When you didn’t respond to my letter, I wanted to give up.” Katie scrubs the moisture from her face. “But that didn’t stop me from searching. You’re the reason I rehome families for a living. I thought… it might allow me to track you down.”

An invisible string wrapped around my heart is drawing me across the room. Part of me wants to approach her. Get to know her. Throw myself into her awaiting arms and allow myself to be cared for by the one person I always wanted, but never had.

The other part of me can’t forget the memories of my dad screaming, letting me starve, and leaving me alone in the world. Vulnerable and at the mercy of men like Mr Sanchez. As much as I want to, I can’t separate the two.

“Where did you go?” Katie clutches her chest.

“I left England when I was sixteen.”

“Why? With who?”

“It’s a complicated story,” Lola answers for me.

I send her a grateful nod. “It is.”

“Then uncomplicate it.” Katie turns her fury on Lola. “You’ve known about Willow for months now. Christ, you let her sit opposite me and never said a word!”

“I had to. She needed more time.”

“My daughter! You hid her from me.”

“I did what I thought I had to for her sake,” she defends, her tears shining in the warm cabin light. “I was keeping your daughter safe. Surely you can understand that?”

Wrapping my arms around myself, I slam my eyes shut. It’s too much. I spent so long alone, now there are too many people around me. I can’t breathe. Can’t think straight. Can’t remain calm. They’re sucking all of the oxygen out of the room.

Katie’s voice is laced with defeat. “I have a granddaughter who I didn’t even know existed. I can’t get that time back now. I’ve missed out on so much.”

“And you think I haven’t?” Lola shouts back.

“You knew Willow was here and you still lied.”

“I was making damned sure that she’d stay!” she defends.

“Please,” I whimper.

Neither of them are listening to me, yelling over each other instead. My breathing dissolves into constricted gasping. The raised voices and lash of hatred unleashes a pit of dark memories. I can’t back any further into the corner.

“She’s my daughter! You had no right to make that decision. No fucking right.”

“I had every right!” Lola yells back.

“Says who?”

“Says me! I’m in charge of this town. You ought to remember that.”

Katie scoffs in disappointment. “You’re a bitter old woman, clutching at excuses. You’ve betrayed me. I should have been the first to know that Willow had come home.”

“Enough! Stop it, both of you!”

I’m hunched over, my hands on my shuddering knees as my vision begins to blacken from lack of air. Lola tries to speak, but I find the strength to cut her off.

“Get out,” I hiss. “Now.”

“Willow, please?—”

“I said get out! Right now!”

Katie looks at me with such raw longing, it nearly knocks me over. I refuse to budge, pointing towards the front door. She shakes her head and leaves.

“Willow,” Lola begins.

“No. You too.”

“But—”

“Go!” I scream at her.

Appearing shaken, Lola follows in Katie’s footsteps. When the door slams shut behind them, I let myself crumble. An awful sob tears at my throat. I know I won’t be left alone for much longer.

Run.

I have to run.

Bolting for the bathroom, I slam the door behind me and lock it, searching for a hiding place. I just want to feel safe again. Crawling into the bathtub, I curl up with my knees to my chest, letting the tears finally come.

A never ending river of regret and pain chokes me in the silence. I’ve never felt so alone. I found my family after all this time, but it’s too late. The damage has been done. Katie was right—we can never get those lost years back.

“Willow? Where are you?”

Slamming my hands over my ears, I curl up even tighter. I want to be left in peace. It was easier to survive when it was just Arianna and me. The two of us against the world.

Before I cared too much.

Before I let people get close.

Before I opened myself up to pain.

I’ve never had control over my life. How do I take it back? How do I make everything stop hurting so much? I’ll never belong. Not really. This was all a futile dream.

Next to my bottle of shower gel, I spot the razor I used to shave my legs this morning. A tiny, whispered voice calls out to me in sinister slithers. I haven’t heard it for a long time.

Take control, Willow.

I don’t know what I’m doing until the razor is in my hands. Smashing the cheap plastic against the side of the tub, it frees the two sharp blades inside. I don’t think about what I’m doing. Thinking is bad. Unnecessary.

I need everything to stop. All the pain. All the confusion. All the heartache and indecision about our future. Even if it’s only for a moment. Pain used to focus me, strengthen my determination. It paved the way for our escape.

Drawing my thumb along the sharp blade, I watch the blood rise to the surface. It’s beautiful, the rush of air that pierces my lungs with each drop that falls. Mr Sanchez isn’t hurting me anymore. Now, I’m in charge. I’m hurting myself.

Biting my lip, I dig the blade into my wrist next, slicing it with a strangled cry. I need to breathe. Relief. Anything. Pressing deeper, I dig it into my arm and sob even harder. Crimson splashes on the polished tiles surrounding me.

“Willow!” Killian booms. “Open this door right now.”

The blade falls from my trembling hand, hitting the floor of the tub. Hammering on the bathroom door sends me spiralling further. All I can hear is Mr Sanchez’s voice promising punishment if I continue to hide and deny him what he wants.

Get out here immediately.

Else I’ll beat Arianna black and blue.

“Stand back, I can pick the lock.”

The hammering on the door ceases.

“Zach, hurry!”

“I’m trying, dammit.”

I ignore the click of the lock being picked. All I can see is the splash of blood flowing from my arm. It’s proof of all the twisted feelings that have been choking me for so long. I can finally see them in the flesh.

There’s a gasp, followed by a deep growl of fury. I don’t want them to see me like this, but I have no strength to hold it in anymore. This is the real me, beneath the smiles and bravado. This is the person they love.

“Get out,” I hear Micah order.

“Like hell. Move out of the way.”

“I know how to handle this, not you,” he argues in a hard voice. “Give us some space and get the first aid kit from across the street. She’ll need stitches.”

“Come on, Kill,” Zach mutters.

With my eyes squeezed shut, I listen to their footsteps moving away from the bathroom. The door clicks shut again, and fingertips gently brush across my forehead. The hair is swiped from my face, revealing two frightened green eyes.

“What have you done to yourself, beautiful?”

“Micah?” I gasp.

“I’m here, Willow.”

“The others…”

“It’s just me. I sent them away. Reckon you can take a breath for me?”

Micah’s kneeling beside the bathtub, the corner of his mouth tilted up in a weak smile that he’s plastering on for my benefit. I’m glad it’s him. He’s the only one that has seen the thread of darkness sliding through my veins before.

Nodding, I grit my teeth and attempt to suck air in. Micah blows it out and mimes sucking in again. With his hand cupping my neck, I breathe a little better.

“I need to take a look at your arm. Keep breathing for me, alright?”

“Okay,” I wheeze.

Turning his attention to my blood-slick arm, he grabs a hand towel to hold against the deep slices I inflicted. The pain barely registers in my numb mind. Micah adds pressure, clasping on both sides of my forearm to stem the bleeding.

“You’re okay,” he repeats under his breath.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Mi.”

“Stop, Willow. You don’t have to apologise.”

“I… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You’re hurting right now,” he explains simply. “Sometimes the only way to make sense of the pain we feel on the inside is to see it physically on the outside.”

I bite my lip. “I needed it all to stop.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, believe me. I’m going to lift you up now, and I want you to hold on to my neck. Can you do that?”

“I c-can do it.”

“Good. Hold on then.”

With amazingly gentle hands, he lifts me from the bathtub and places me on the counter next to the sink basin. I nuzzle his neck while cuddling him tight.

Micah presses a soft kiss against my hair. “Breathe, Willow.”

“Please don’t let go of me.”

“I swear to you, angel. I will never let go of you.”

We stay wrapped together like twisted vines until there’s another knock at the door, lighter this time, and he retreats to answer. Heavy breathing emanates from the hallway.

“Can I help?” Zach asks frantically.

“We’re good here. I’ll get her cleaned up.”

“Mi, please. I want to help.”

“If you want to help, then go.”

Shutting the door in Zach’s heartbroken face, Micah returns to settle between my parted legs. He rummages in the first aid kit, threading a needle ready for stitches.

“Micah? Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yeah, I do. I need to clean your arm first. It might hurt a bit.”

“I’m so s-sorry. You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Stop beating yourself up.” Hesitating, he rolls up the cuff of his shirt, exposing his wrist to me. “I know what you’re going through, and I’m not here to judge.”

Inspecting his skin, I study the uneven, silvery scars from old self-inflicted cuts. Micah shivers when I trail a shaking finger over a particularly nasty one. He knows. He doesn’t hate me. He isn’t disgusted. He… is me.

“Hold still now. I’ll go as fast as I can.”

I barely flinch as he douses the cuts on my arm in bottled antiseptic and presses a cotton ball against the flow of blood. My pain tolerance is scarily high. The burning fades into the background and I focus on nothing but him.

His luminous green eyes. Messy, caramel-streaked hair. The shining ring in his nose. Kindness clinging to his every move. All the tiny details that I’ve longed to memorise.

“Deep breath,” he murmurs.

Micah traps his bottom lip between his teeth as he glides the needle through my skin and begins to stitch up the cuts in neat rows. His eyes continuously flick up to me.

“You good?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“Sorry if I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not.”

Snipping the last stitch, he checks over his work. The stitches are perfect. Almost too perfect. The silver streaks of anguish on his skin speak for themselves. Micah knows all about inflicting pain on the outside to reflect within.

Back inside the first aid kit, he retrieves a small roll of cotton bandage. I lift my arm, allowing him to wind it around in a tight spiral to hold everything in place. Even the way he seals the bandage with a scrap of tape is deft.

“All done.”

“Thanks, Mi.”

He closes the kit. “The others are probably losing their shit out there.”

“I just… need a moment. Please.”

Stroking his knuckles against my cheek, he nods. “Take all the time you need. They can wait.”

Running the tap, Micah holds my hands in his and rinses them off. Every stroke of his fingertips is gentle. He swirls soap into my palms and washes them for me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he whispers.

I silently shake my head.

“Okay. Mind if I talk?”

Turning off the tap, he rests against the edge of the bathtub. That almost imperceptible second skin of sadness has slipped back over him, obscuring the smiles and confidence I’ve come to love. Our torment is entangled in this small room.

“The first time I did it, I was eleven.” He stares down at the scars on his arm. “I never meant for it to get out of hand. It was only meant to be one time.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I missed my dad. It hurt so bad, I needed to get it all out.”

I stroke an unsteady hand over his hair. “Did it work?”

“At first,” he admits. “But the high didn’t last long, and I had to do it again. And again. And again. Each time sooner than the last. I lost control so fast, I couldn’t stop it.”

Micah looks up, stabbing me with the determination brewing in his eyes. That clinging sense of sadness dissolves like storm clouds sweeping away to douse their next victims.

“Don’t fall down this slippery slope, Willow. Don’t start something that you won’t be able to stop. I need you to promise me that if you feel like this again, you’ll tell me.”

When I don’t immediately answer him, Micah takes my hand in his and rests it against his cheek, forcing me to acknowledge him. Barbed wire is slicing deep into my throat.

“Promise me, Willow.”

“It won’t happen again. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t care what you were thinking. All I want is your word that you’ll talk to me before hurting yourself again. You’ll ask for help.”

“Mi… I promise.”

“Swear to it?” he pushes.

Leaning closer, I rest our foreheads together. “Swear to it.”

“I can’t fucking lose you. Not like this.”

Lips meeting in a frenetic kiss, I let him take the assurance he needs. While the other two demand physical possession of my heart, Micah’s content to sneak into the darkest corners of my mind and set up shop in the shadows.

I’ll take it.

Whatever he needs of me.

Sliding his arms under my legs, Micah lifts me into his arms and lets me hide my face in the soft fabric of his shirt. He still smells like fresh oil paint, even in normal clothes.

The cabin is weirdly quiet as we pad towards the master bedroom. Everyone has gone home and left us in peace. Nudging the door open, Micah settles me under the tangled blue sheets on my bed.

“Arianna’s gone home with Aalia.” He sits down next to me. “Figured you could use some space after that fiasco. Killian threw Lola and Katie out.”

I nod numbly. “Good.”

“You should lay down and get some rest.”

“I can’t sleep. Not without them.”

Right on cue, the door creaks open again and two faces peer into the room. While Zach looks terrified of finding me in a state, Killian looks more afraid of the intensity of his own feelings. They refuse to move from the doorway.

“Can we come in?” Killian pleads.

I reach out a hand. “I need you to hold me.”

His mouth hooks up. “That I can do.”

Tentatively approaching, they find their own place in the bed. Micah stretches across the end, a hand tightly wrapped around my ankle. Killian climbs in and traps me against his broad chest, above the roar of his heartbeat.

Zach is the last to slip in next to me, burying his face in my stomach. I slide my fingers through his hair, stroking the lumps of his skull. His breathing is shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

Killian tightens his iron-grip. “I won’t hear it.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Zach adds.

Between all three of them, I feel the weight lifting from my shoulders. The darkness of the room swallows their individual lumps beneath my sheets until I can’t tell where they end and I begin.

Micah strokes the inside of my ankle. “Rest, Willow.”

“You’re not alone,” Zach murmurs.

Killian grunts in agreement. “We’re here.”

I can face the future with them at my side, but I know how this cruel life works. Nothing lasts. Especially not the good things. If I don’t self-destruct, then the world will do it for me. Then… all of our hearts will be in the firing line.