Hunter's Moon

One: Riley

"I'm fine," I muttered, though I was anything but. It's been almost three months since the accident, and I thought I'd at least be better by now. Instead, the pain was just as fresh as the day it happened, and the nightmares refused to go away, not unless I drank half a bottle of whiskey to shut them down.

"Rye," Nadia sighed. "It's okay to not be okay. What happened was traumatic, and—"

"N," I interrupted. She glimpsed at me for a brief second, letting me know I had her attention while she focused on the road. "I don't want to talk about it, you know that. I agreed to let you drag my ass around these woods, not to talk about feelings."

She released a defeated breath, and silence filled the Beast for the next little while. She'd tried to get me to talk all summer, and while I knew I needed to, I couldn't. I'd done the bare minimum by talking to a grief counselor, but it would take years to get over my parents' deaths, let alone talk about it. Besides, it was kind of hard to talk about what you couldn't remember. My memories only came back in nightmares—a black, cloudy night sky; my body laid out on the asphalt; fire burning and crackling from the car, following the line of gasoline as it trailed away from the car...

Other things came back to me, though not often. I remembered the image of my mother's lifeless body strewn across a tree bough, while my father cursed and screamed from where he was trapped in the car. Memories of people calling out occasionally flashed through my mind, but I couldn't be totally sure if it was first responders or not. The way they were yelling... there was a sense of urgency to it, one I couldn't quite place my finger on.

Thankfully, Nadia got it. Her own mother died when she was five, so she understood what I was going through more than anyone. She still tried to make me open up, but she didn't push me like her dad or my aunt, or my grandparents before they flew back to Norway last week. Instead, she helped distract me and take my mind off things by either going to parties with me or, more often than not, dragging me out on hikes and camping trips.

"So, Nancy Dryvers ran away again," Nadia said abruptly in an attempt to change the topic.

"When doesn't that girl run?" I scoffed, staring out the window again. It was no secret that Nancy Dryvers had a difficult life at home—a drunk, abusive father, a mother who pretended she didn't exist, and siblings who made her life a living hell. Nancy Dryvers ran away from home seventeen times since she was nine years old, and it would probably be seventeen more before she finally found the freedom she craved.

Nadia shrugged. "Sometimes, when your life is in danger, the only thing to do is run," she murmured. "Even if people say they can help. She's been fighting and running her whole life. I just hope she finds peace soon."

"Yeah," I murmured, nodding slowly as my brain struggled to process what she had said. I heard her, but I didn't hear her. All I could think about was running, my feet pounding against the earth while fire spread through my lungs and torso. It would be better than this dark, empty nothingness. At least the pain would remind me that I'm still alive.

~ ~ ~

In... Out... Fiery pain lashed at the muscles in my legs, all while my legs and heart threatened to burst from my chest at any second. My head pounded, both from the hangover and dehydration, and it felt like I'd fall over any second now. Despite all of that, I felt alive as Nadia and I clung to the side of the mountain, inching our way across the path.

"You good?" She called over her shoulder, carefully placing one foot in front of the other as we made our way up the trail. We were out on West Mountain, one of the more dangerous mountains surrounding Wolf Valley. Trails crisscrossed all over the mountain, sometimes taking us through a magical fairy realm, and other times leading us to the brink of death. We had exited a copse of trees, and now we were at a segment of the trail that had warning signs posted. EXTREMELY DANGEROUS: PROCEED WITH CAUTION.