Page 137 of Heimlock

Five … four … three …

“I’m not doing that.”

I chuckle, bumping his arm with my shoulder. “No one said you needed to. That’s the definition of optional.”

“Still not doing it,” he grumbles, standing next to me as we find a spot in the partial circle.

The burning circle has a bonfire in the center, with unlit torches in a pile nearby. They’re intended to be placed onto the dolls to initiate the burning. While I could easily burn it myself, again, the symbology is important.

A guide announces it’s almost time for the sharing to begin. Trinte’s clammy hand grabs mine. I’m hoping this turns into something beneficial, but time will tell.

Finally, it’s time. The circle is closed, with dozens of people quietly waiting for the sharing to begin.

Holding Trinte’s hand tightly, sweat be damned, we listen to the stories.

54

Kyrielle might very well be banned from surprises going forward. Her honorable intention for tonight is appreciated, but nausea churns in my gut. So many people are here, ready to burn their proverbial shackles. I want to run in the opposite direction.

The one thing keeping me steady is her firm hold on my hand. Kyrielle undoubtedly can feel my sweaty palms, but I’m an inch from screaming in a state of panic.

When the sharing begins, the pit in my stomach deepens. It’s one thing to know that every person around you holds a world you’ll never fully know or understand — it’s a whole other thing to listen as ‌a mother of three discusses sexual assault by her husband. Or the man who spoke of his vicious mother. Some lost parents and grieve deeply, not unlike Fynn. Others are here to share their aspirations.

There’s so many examples of bravery here. Everyone here has trudged through the muck, and tonight, they’re hoping they can continue forward with fewer burdens.

Something I’m desperate for.

An older female Elf, who can’t be less than fifty-five, speaks. She looks around nervously as she says, “Hi, uh, yeah, my name is Haylei.” She lifts a paper mache gold star. “Tonight, I wrote my father’s name on it.” She looks at her star, her expression hardening. “It’s crazy to be this age and still be haunted by the things he did. But here I am, at retirement age, still hurting from things that happened when I was a teenager.”

A tear slides down my face as one falls down hers. Haylei’s throat works a few times before she can say, “They never talk about how long trauma lasts. How those around you get tired of hearing about it, demanding that you ‘get over it’ when you try to talk about it.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the crowd; my despair deepens. How can pain like this be so normalized that this many people understand what it means to be ignored? How, as a society, do we continue to let this happen?

Haylei chokes on a sob. Her neighbors whisper comforting words as they rub her back. When she’s finally able to, she says, “I’m so tired. I’m so tired of feeling this every single day, you know? I’m tired of paying the price for his choices, while pretending ‌everything is fine.” Her voice fills with rage as she says, “I just want to be fucking free!”

She throws the star on the ground, glaring at it. People call out words of encouragement before quieting down.

Her words resonate deeper than expected. I’m also tired of feeling this way. Am I truly going to be the product of my trauma … forever? Will I be seventy-years-old, unable to share my life with others? Unable to express myself?

Nothing sounds worse. It would be a waste of a life. A waste of opportunity.

I will not waste my life.

The guide looks around. “Anyone else?”

An unfamiliar need to speak rumbles in my chest, crawling up my throat. Like these teeth are ready to part and release the beast devouring my insides. I don’t know if she can sense the indecision in me, but Kyrielle squeezes my hand. My expression reflects how lost I feel. She nods in silent encouragement.

Up until this moment, I’ve spent my whole life locking bits of myself away for safekeeping. Slices of soul set aside like treasured objects. This world has taught me that if given half the chance, most people will hurt you.

But not Kyrielle.

Not Fynn.

Not Orliana.

Not Joulian.

Not Talia.