Page 8 of Crown of the Mist

But the weight in my chest doesn't lift. It presses harder, heavier, until I can't fight it anymore. My legs give out, and I sink to the floor, my back against the couch. The tears come again, slower this time, as I hug my knees to my chest.

The room feels too quiet, too empty. The ache spreads, clawing its way through every inch of me until I feel hollow, like I'm barely here. The walls press in, the silence growing teeth.

"I can't do this anymore," I whisper into the darkness, my voice cracking. The words fall flat,swallowed by the stillness. Through the window, the mist shifts and swirls, like it's trying to reach me. Its familiar coolness brushes against my skin, but even that comfort feels wrong tonight. Everything feels wrong.

My limbs grow heavy as exhaustion drags me under. The couch digs into my shoulder, the floor hard beneath me, but I don't move. Can't move. The mist thickens around me, its presence both soothing and suffocating. Like it knows something I don't. Like it's trying to tell me something I'm not ready to hear.

I close my eyes, letting the tears dry tacky on my cheeks. The last thing I notice before sleep claims me is how the mist seems to pulse in rhythm with my breathing, wrapping around me like a shroud. Like a promise. Or maybe a warning.

5. Bree

A week. Seven whole days of silence since I woke up on that floor, muscles stiff and eyes swollen.

No calls. No texts. Not even a passive-aggressive meme from Jace.

It's what I wanted, isn't it?

The thought swirls in my mind, tangling with the ache in my chest. I press my forehead to the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. My feet throb from another double shift at Maple Grove, but the physical pain is almost welcome—something real to focus on besides the hollow feeling inside. The gray sky feels fitting. Appropriate. It's been a week since I stormed out of Mercer's, and while part of me feels lighter, the rest of me feels... empty.

For the first time in years, they've given me space—real space. I told them to leave me alone, and they listened. I should be happy. Relieved. Ishould be basking in the quiet, in the freedom of not having anyone else to answer to.

Instead, it feels like there's an invisible thread pulling at me, taut and fraying, waiting to snap.

The week has been a blur of restless nights and too-early mornings. Nightmares have clawed their way into my sleep, leaving me shaken and gasping for air. Each one is the same: shadows creeping in, voices echoing from a past I've worked so hard to bury. My mother's voice. My father's anger. And the mist—always the mist, curling and shifting, a silent witness to it all.

I've thrown myself into work, picking up extra shifts at Maple Grove, distracting myself with Mrs. Henderson's stories and Mr. Jacobs' wandering thoughts. But even there, the quiet moments between tasks leave room for memories to creep in.

The rain drums against the window in a steady rhythm, each drop creating tiny rivers that distort the world outside. It reminds me of tears—the ones I won't let fall anymore.

Even with the silence, they’re still here

Gray’s sharp eyes, always calculating, always seeing too much. Theo’s warmth, his easy grin that could thaw an iceberg. Jace’s carefree laugh, hiding a depth he doesn’t let many see. Rhett’s steady presence, a wall I could lean on if I letmyself. And Wes... Wes, with his quiet strength and the way his words always cut right to the heart of things.

I shake my head, tearing my gaze from the rain. No. This is for the best. I told them to stay away because I knew I couldn’t keep dragging them into my mess. They don’t need my baggage. They deserve better than that—better than me.

But the truth is, I miss them.

Life feels colder without Jace’s ridiculous jokes. The quiet is suffocating without Theo’s laughter filling the gaps. I even miss Rhett’s constant pushback, the way he challenges me in ways no one else dares to.

I cross the room, grabbing the journal from the coffee table. I flip it open, not bothering to find a specific page. The words blur together, fragments of thoughts and memories that feel both familiar and foreign.

March 3rd, Junior Year.

I think if I just disappeared, no one would notice. Would they even care? I tried calling Rhett today. He was with Cindy Matthews—I could hear her laughing in the background when he finally picked up. He said he'd call me back, but he never did. Probably for the best. He doesn't need to deal with my mess anyway. Not when he has someone normal, someone whole.

I flip the page, my throat tight.

April 15th.

Jace made everyone laugh at lunch today. Even me. For a second, I almost forgot about everything—about Dad, about Mom, about the bruises I had to cover up this morning. He caught me smiling and did this ridiculous victory dance. Sometimes I wonder if he knows how much those moments mean. How sometimes his stupid jokes are the only thing that gets me through the day.

I snap the journal shut, the sound sharp in the stillness.

Enough.

I toss the journal onto the couch and grab my hoodie from the hook by the door.

I need air.