The Writing Retreat(101)

Hubris. Lamia thought she was invincible. That was her weakness.

Lamia was correct that Daphne had suffered.

But she had also survived. That meant that she, Daphne, had her own type of power.



My hands stilled over the keys and I stared into the fire. The word “power” filled my mind. It had never felt more alien, more unreachable, than this moment: writing at gunpoint. I thought of Chitra, her body crumpled on the dining room floor. Of Zoe, Yana, and Keira, frozen and stacked in the garage like logs.

I glanced at Wren, who was hunched over and typing furiously. She was scared, injured, pathetic. And yet, before, she’d held so much power over me. Even in her absence, she’d been an omnipotent phantom, haunting my every thought. I remembered how terrified I’d been on the subway ride to Ursula’s book party, wondering if I would see her.

I thought of Wren as a child, locked in the closet, bruises peppering her arms and back.

I looked at Roza and Taylor—neither of whom had even glanced at the wine, unfortunately. Roza was now reading something on her phone, Taylor examining something on her gun—and a similar veil fell away. I saw both of them as younger versions of themselves, fresh girls slowly realizing that the world they’d been born into hadn’t saved a place for them. Young Roza just missing the extreme horrors of the war, only to come upon them in the closet of her best friend’s home. Adolescent Taylor existing in a space that hated girls so much that they decided to stop living. She’d had to shove her rage so far down for so long that it had festered in the dark.

And me. A young girl meeting a monster in the woods and knowing deep down that it heralded the end of something. That the hushed arguments and sharp looks and ominous energy at home meant it was all swiftly coming to an end.

Where did one’s power lie in a world that stripped it from you, over and over again? How could we reclaim it when the dominant forces dangled it above our heads, shouting: Only the strong survive? Was harming others the only way? Or was that a trick too?

Maybe the answer was even simpler than I could have imagined. Maybe the power had never really gone away. Maybe it still lived in me, in my guts, in my bones. Maybe all I had to do was see it.

Yes. Daphne’s voice, solemn and proud, permeated my thoughts. You’ve finally perceived the truth. Behind all this. Behind Roza. Behind yourself. You’ve reached the end.

You’re done.

I pushed my laptop away.

“I’m done.” The words that came out were phlegmy and gruff.

“What’d she say?” Taylor asked faintly. Roza looked up from her phone.

I cleared my throat and turned to face them. “I’m done.”

Wren stopped typing and stared at me, her eyes huge and frightened.

“You wrote for five minutes.” Roza’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t be done.”

I snorted. The sound startled me but then I laughed again, exuberant. The power of my resistance filled me, sparkling like a billion twinkling stars.

“Thank you, Roza,” I said. “It took until now for me to understand.”

“Alex.” Wren’s voice was low, filled with panic.

“Did it, dear?” Roza slammed her phone down. In the candlelight, her face looked slightly haggard.

“Yes. In a really fucked-up way, I think you saved me.” My voice strengthened. “Before all of this, I was really just sleepwalking. I felt so numbed out. So unhappy. Hopeless.” I took a deep breath. “But being here… you made me remember that I have this ability, to create whole worlds inside me.”

“Um.” Taylor glanced at Roza. “Is she serious right now?”

“For so long I let other people make me feel like that wasn’t good enough,” I said. “That, in order to be a real writer, I had to get some agent or publisher to believe in me. Until then it would just be a delusion. But that’s bullshit. Because even if I never publish anything, I’m a writer.” I paused to take a breath. “I’m a writer, and no one can take that away from me.”

Roza just watched, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s a rush,” I went on. “And in some fucked-up way, I get it, Roza. You’ve gone to such great lengths to steal it from other people. But you’ll never have this power.”

She was smiling now.

“And so…” I stood and grabbed the back of the chair for support. Taylor jumped up but Roza put up a hand to stop her.

“I’m taking it with me. I’m done.” I scooped up the stack of papers, strode to the fireplace, and threw them in.

Wren cried out but I just watched them burn. Peace alighted in my chest, gentle as a moth, as the pages crumpled and blackened. I could feel Daphne’s ghostly presence beside me. She was beaming, as proud as a mother.

They could do whatever they wanted to my body, but they couldn’t have my story.

“Oh, Alex.” Roza rubbed her forehead. “You little fool. You didn’t really think that was the only copy, did you?” She sounded amused. “Such a heroic act, though. And a speech! I’m glad you got that, dear. You deserve to go out on a high note.” The mirth drained from her face as she turned to Taylor.

“Kill her.”





Chapter 41




“Really?” Taylor seemed startled.