Treading The Waters [on hold]

Chapter Twenty

I've never felt more like shit in my life than when Lyla opened her mouth last night. And that says a lot because I felt pretty shitty when I left here the first time.

I am not oblivious to the level of disaster my leaving caused, but hearing it come from her mouth—so acrimonious and filled with hate—made me the feel the worst I've ever felt.

I haven't been able to get her words out of my head all night, and it's making writing hard this morning.

You're such a self-obsessed bitch who couldn't see what was right in front of her. You chose something over my brother, and you should have never had the power to break him in the first place.

You ruined him, and in the process, you fucked up our entire family and we haven't been the same since. Everything, and I do mean everything, is your fault.

You're such a waste of space, and my brother would be stupid to allow you into his life again.

She has no business saying those things to me to begin with. My business with Jensen is just that, my business. And his.

I don't even know why I'm letting her words get to me. It's infuriating, but they're taking root in my mind like a newly planted oak.

Which is what's bringing me to a place that very few people know about. The place where I wrote my first love song. A place that holds more memories than even the restaurant does.

The waterfall that's a mile behind our house into the woods, at the end of a path not traveled by people. It's not even cut out, so you have to track through high weeds to get there. But when you do... It's spectacular.

The story is that over one hundred years ago, a man created a stream from the nearby river to water his tobacco farmland. But once he passed, the land wasn't taken care of, and everything withered to nothing. That stream made the rock wear down over the years, creating the very waterfall I'm looking at right now.

Vibrant greenery and a multitude of flower types line the walkway and hang off the rocks surrounding the waterfall. A scene like this is a photographer's wet dream.

I take a seat by my favorite rock, arranging everything so that I can start writing in a calm environment. This place inspired me once, and I really need for it to inspire me again.

I try to remember the feelings I felt here, the overwhelming love and knowledge that someone cared for me. It makes me smile, and that's what finally gets the wheels turning in my head.

I'm not sure how long I've been writing, but I stop when I hear a noise in the woods. I stay quiet for a minute but hear nothing.

I'm so stupid to come out here without Wolf. At least he would protect me.

Then I hear it again, the crunching sound. It's getting closer. I slide down below the rock, hiding so that maybe, just maybe, I won't be eaten alive.

Rest in peace, Baya.