Trust Issues

Chapter 11

I didn't get out of bed the next day. Or the next. I'd fallen so deep into that ravine that I couldn't tell if I was still falling or floating. My body felt impossibly light yet weighed down by an invisible burden. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Waverly sobbing over the mermaid, the grief, shame, anger, regret, and hatred in her eyes hitting me like a punch to the gut.

I waffled over what to do next, changing my mind every few minutes. I wanted to see Waverly and be there for her during one of the most harrowing times in her life. But each time I started to rally myself to get out of bed, a little voice told me she'd tell me if and when she wanted to see anyone.

And each time, I swiped at the angry tears forming in my eyes as I slumped back against the pillows. The rumpled blanket in the chair beside my bed told me that Jonah had been there not too long ago.

The sunlight shining down from the surface through our windows told me that it was midday. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that it'd been a long time since I'd last eaten or drunk. The refilled mug of bubble tea beside my bed was a clear indicator that Mom had slipped in while I'd slept.

Rubbing my eyes, I stretched, my sore muscles protesting at the movement. The knock had barely finished echoing before I opened my mouth. "Come in," I called out, my voice barely above a whisper. I reached for the mug, hands trembling. I couldn't get the mermaid's face out of my mind. Who was she? Did she have a family?

I knew Waverly had to be wrestling with those questions—and many more. Finding out about the Sirens had to have been life-changing, just like it had been for me. The door cracked open, revealing a red, tear-stained face. My breath caught in my chest, panic momentarily seizing me. I took in a ragged gulp of water as Waverly's eyes met mine.

My heart broke anew at the emptiness in her gaze. She swam in without a word, the rise and fall of her chest the only indication she was breathing. Every so often, she'd glance down at her hands as if remembering the feel of the mermaid's blood between her fingers. I shuddered, wrapping the blanket tighter around myself. 

"I don't sleep anymore," she said by way of greeting. "Every time I close my eyes, I see the fear and panic in that mermaid's eyes. I hear his voice, forcing me to sing. Even when I'm awake, I hear his voice. He didn't stick around—he just gave the order and left. I'd never heard the song, yet somehow I knew every word."

When her voice broke, tears spilled down my cheeks. Her eyes sought mine, but she made no move to approach me. I made the first move, rising from the bed, albeit unsteadily, and swimming toward her. Carefully, she searched my face, asking permission with her eyes. She knew that what had happened with... him—Gods, I couldn't even bear to think his name—had changed me inside and out, leaving many invisible scars.

I blew out a shaky breath before nodding. Waverly pulled me into her arms, the contact cracking open something inside me I thought I'd successfully locked away. Broken, ragged sobs ripped from my throat, punctured by heartbreaking gasps for water. "I'm sorry," I cried, the words almost too painful to voice. "I'm so sorry."

Waverly was crying too, her words inaudible. I knew she didn't—and would never—blame me for what happened, yet I did. I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, arms wrapped around each other, our shared trauma bonding us in a way friendship never could.

When she finally spoke, her voice was small. "You have to stop blaming yourself. I don't. I never have. If anything, I blame myself. I should have done something—anything—to escape when I realized what was happening.

"But I didn't. I was frozen. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I remember is Zander's smile." A shuddering sigh escaped her lips as her body trembled.