Page 2 of Crown of the Mist
"Bree?" Rhett's voice cuts through the haze like a lifeline I'm not sure I deserve. "You in there?"
I squeeze my eyes shut, debating whether to answer. Silence is safer. Silence means no one gets too close. Maybe if I wait long enough, he’llleave—like everyone else always does.
"Bree." Lower this time, but with that edge of steel that makes my stomach flip. "I know you're there. Open up."
When I pull open the door, he fills the frame like he always has, steady and solid and so frustratingly present. His sharp green eyes scan my face, and something in his expression softens just enough to make my chest ache. I step out quickly, pulling the door shut behind me before he can peek inside. He's never been in my apartment, none of them have. Some walls need to stay up.
His presence fills the narrow hallway, and I press myself against the doorframe, trying to maintain distance even as part of me aches to lean into his warmth. The familiar scent of cedar and smoke wraps around me, making my chest tight with longing.
You okay?” he asks, his voice low.
“Peachy,” I mutter, leaning against the doorframe.
He raises an eyebrow. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks for the boost of confidence,” I snap, though there’s no heat behind it.
Rhett exhales and rubs the back of his neck. “Look, I’m not here to argue. I just…wanted to check on you. You didn’t answer my texts.”
I glance away, guilt twisting in my stomach. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to let me know you’re alive?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?” he asks, his voice soft but insistent. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’re trying to push us all away.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t have an answer for him. Not one I can say out loud, anyway.
At my silence he just sighs and steps closer, his hand brushing my shoulder. “You don’t have to do this alone, Bree,” he says quietly. “You never did.”
The weight of his words presses down on me, and for a moment, I want to believe him. But I know better.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, stepping back into the safety of my apartment. “Really.”
Rhett watches me for a long moment, his jaw tightening before he nods. “Sure. Fine.”
He turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing down the hall like a countdown I can't stop. Each step drives home how good I am at this—pushing people away, staying safely broken.
I click the door shut and slide down against it, the worn wood rough against my back through my thin shirt. My forehead drops to my knees as I try to breathe through the tightness in my chest. The mist curls around me, its cool tendrils brushing against my skin like a concerned touch I don't deserve. It weaves between my fingers where they grip my legs, persistent and present in a way that makes my throat burn.
"Stop," I whisper, but I'm not sure if I'm talking to the mist or myself. Maybe both. The silence of my apartment presses in, broken only by the steady drip of the leaky faucet and the sound of my ragged breathing.
Something warm slides down my cheek—a tear I didn't give permission to fall. I swipe it away roughly, but more follow, silent betrayals that prove how weak I really am.
2. Bree
The smell of burnt toast and cigarettes fills the apartment. I sit cross-legged on my bed, clutching my stuffed bear, its fur matted from too many nights of soaking up tears. I press my face into its soft belly, trying to block out the yelling from the next room, but every word cuts through the thin walls like knives.
"You're just going to leave?!" Dad's voice makes my stomach twist into knots. "After everything I've done for you?"
"I can't do this anymore, Kevin." Mom's voice wavers between sharp and broken. "I've tried. God, I've tried. But I'm done."
I press my hands over my ears, squeezing my eyes shut until colors burst behind my lids. Their voices seep through anyway, poison through cracks.
"You're not thinking about Bree." Dad's voice turns mean, the way it does right before things break. "What kind of mother just walks out on her kid?"
"Everything I do is for her!" Mom's voice cracks like glass, something wild and desperate in it that I've never heard before. "You don't understand. You never did."