Bury Me(14)

“I wasn’t even in the water, so you didn’t save me from anything,” I argue, mirroring his pose by putting my own hands on my hips as I glare at him.

He shakes his head at me, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Oh no. You don’t get to be annoyed with me,” I continue. “You had no right to drag me away from the water. Who do you think you are, stopping me from going for a swim in my lake on my family’s property?”

The irritation disappears from his face and his hands drop from his hips as he stares at me. The silence and the way he studies me is unnerving, and it makes me want to run away. Not because I’m afraid of him or what he might do to me, but because I’m scared he’ll figure out all of my secrets, even the ones I can’t even comprehend myself.

“Jesus,” he whispers under his breath. “You really don’t remember anything.”

I hate the way he says these words, like he knows everything about me, and he’s shocked that I know nothing.

“What are you talking about?”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously, finally looking away from me to stare out at the lake behind me.

“I thought it was all an act. I thought you were ashamed of…God, I’m an *…”

Nolan trails off, still scanning the lake instead of looking at me. I have no idea what he’s muttering about and I want to yell at him and demand answers, but the quiet confusion in his voice and the look of sadness on his face hold me back. What did he think was an act? What do I have to be ashamed of?

“You honestly don’t remember. It never occurred to me you really didn’t remember until I saw you on the end of that dock. Jesus, you just about took ten years off my life,” he curses, letting out a frustrated breath.

“Will you please tell me what the hell you’re talking about?” I ask in annoyance, fully prepared to stomp my foot if necessary.

His eyes come back to mine, and I’m overwhelmed with the grief I see shining back at me. He takes a step toward me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off of his body. Not even the warmth from his skin can stop the chill that skitters through me at his next words.

“Ravenna, you don’t know how to swim. You’re deathly afraid of the water, and you never, ever come near this lake.”

I wrap my arms around my body and shake my head back and forth in denial. It doesn’t make sense. I want to argue that he’s wrong but I can see the truth written all over his face. He was honestly afraid for my safety. He saw me out at the end of the dock and pulled me away before I could jump in. It’s impossible to be afraid of someone who clearly wanted to save me, instead of harm me. I forget about the fading bruises on my wrist that matched the fingerprints he left on my upper arm the other day because maybe he tried to save me one other time, and I just don’t remember. The only things I’m afraid of right now are the things he knows about me that I don’t.

Without another word, I sidestep around him and take off, fleeing toward the prison. When he shouts my name, I don’t even look back. I run away from the lake, and I run away from the person who could be the key to unlocking my memories. I run because for the first time since I woke up, I’m not sure I want to know the truth.

“My name is Ravenna Duskin. I’m eighteen years old, and I live in a prison. I have dreams of swimming until my lungs want to burst…but I don’t know how to swim.”





Chapter 6





I rudely elbow my way through a group of tourists milling about in the hallway, waiting their turn in the gift shop. I ignore the shouts of protests when I bump into shoulders and shove people out of my way as I run down the hallway and race up the stairs. I hear my father call my name in a worried voice, but I ignore him as well, escaping into my room and slamming the door closed behind me.

Staring at the pristine pink room with the bed neatly made, I scream in frustration, stomp over to the covers and rip them from the bed. Before I went outside this morning, I found a dark blue comforter in the bathroom closet and remade my bed with something I found appealing, instead of something that disgusted me. My mother must have switched the blankets after I left to go on my walk. In a fit of rage, I crumple the pink comforter in my arms, open the window next to my bed, and toss it out into the air. Clutching onto the windowsill, I watch it flutter to the ground, landing in a heap in the grass two stories below, and wish I could follow right along with it. Maybe a good solid fall from a second-story window will jar my brain enough that everything starts making sense.