A branch broke, and this time it wasn’t under my boots. The shattering sound came from somewhere behind me. I spun around, observing the darkness behind the cool light of the torch. Without realizing, my other hand slipped around the knife in my pocket. I was about to shift behind the dense embrace of a bush when the ground suddenly gave way beneath me.
I plunged into the river.
I tried to gasp for air, but it was already too late. The freezing water closed above me, sealing, like the lid of a coffin. The cold slammed into me like glass shattering against my chest. Bitter water rushed into my ears, into my nose, my mouth, and then the surface was gone.
I thrashed, trying to claw my way back up, but the current was stronger. I tried reaching, again and again, but all I felt was cold. The slow realisation of death sank into my mind as the river dragged me under. Invisible limbs—slippery and cold, like hands of ghosts—wrapped around my ankles, my wrists, tugging me deeper.
I thrashed harder, my lungs burning, my eyes wide open in the murk. My panic ignited. I clawed, but my limbs flailed, uselessly. My coat tangled around me, my boots pulling me down like stones.
Then, something warm and solid brushed against my arm.
I coughed,choking on water as my face broke the surface. I didn’t feel my limbs. I didn’t know how I reached the shore, but I did. I lay on my stomach, holding myself up with my arms as much as I could, and resting my forehead against the hard ground, shivering violently.
Then I retched.
River water, vile and sour, spilled out of my mouth, my teeth chattering from the skin-piercing cold. I tried to steady myself and failed.
“I might have a suggestion for you,” a familiar, insufferably deep voice drawled behind me. “Don’t jump into the river if you can’t swim. It’s a bit too Shakespearean if you ask me.”
I wiped my mouth, then lifted my eyes to Preston Davenport. He was sitting on a broken trunk beside a shivering bush, his clothes just as soaked as mine, though he didn’t seem cold at all. It was like he was almost at ease, if not for the purple of his lips. Which now smirked wickedly.
“And, if you wanted to cuddle that bad, you should’ve just asked.”
The remaining blood left my face. “As if,” I said, my voice hoarse as I tried to stop my fingers from trembling. “And I didn’t need you to jump in. I had the situation under control.” I lied, desperately trying to salvage my self-respect as the cold wind kept trying to push me over.
The blonde boy lifted both of his eyebrows. “Right, and the scream was to warn the fishes.”
My nostrils flared. I balanced myself upright, my waterlogged boots squeaking under my feet. The wind slapped me again as I swept the wet hair out of my face.
“What’s that?” Preston asked, pushing himself to his feet, his cheeks flushed crimson from the cold, making him even more good-looking, if that was possible. I grimaced, annoyed at how much I noticed.
“What?” I glanced around, only to realise his focus remained on me.
“Your skin.” His eyes narrowed like he was looking at an enigma he couldn’t quite understand.
I followed his gaze, and my eyes rounded. The sleeves of my sweaters had rolled up from the current, and pink lines marked my arms like curling vines.
I stared at them, not sure if they were real or not. But I could still feel the tendrils, slick and spectral, dragging me down. It was like the river had left a signature on my skin. The panic came in a distant echo, as if it belonged to someone else. I didn’t have room for it. Not while he was watching.
“Were you following me?” I asked, changing the subject and wringing my hair out, ignoring the pulsing in my arms. “Again.”
Preston stayed still, surveying me like he thought I hid more than I shared. He thought right, but his suspicion didn’t bother me any less. I took a deep breath, my lips trembling from the cold.
“Does it hurt?” I asked, my tone edged. “That it wasn’t you?” The anger came out of nowhere. From the pits of my mind.
His light brows furrowed, as if he didn’t understand what I was asking. Then his expression changed, the meaning of my words finally sinking in.
“I’m devastated.” He tipped his head, lifting a hand to where his heart supposedly was. “However, I’d never hurt a woman.Not even you, poison.” I stiffened. “And there are way simpler methods to hurt someone.”
The shadows of the forest grew thicker around us, but I could still see the faint curl of a grin tugging at his lips. My jaw clenched, my fingers firm around my penknife. Only then, I realized, had the river stolen my newly found torch.
“A simple thank you would do it,” he added, shaking out his wet hair. “You know, for saving your life.” He fixed his sweater and I scoffed.
“I was fine on my own.”
“Sure, you were on a fine way of dying,Ophelia.”
My lips parted then closed. “I was handling it.” My bottom lip trembled from the cold again, and I turned away so Preston wouldn’t see it. I didn’t need him to pity me. To think I was vulnerable.
