Page 2 of Break Me

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore⁠—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Prologue

Samuel

Some places become part of you whether you want them to or not.

Snow crunches beneath my boots as I make my way through the trees. The creek appears between the bare trunks a few yards ahead, winding through the mountains in ribbons of dark water. Ice clings to the banks where the current slows, and the waterfall spills over the ledge beyond it, sending a fine spray into the air that freezes against the surrounding rock.

A year ago, I would've known every inch of this place without looking.

Maybe I still do.

The thought settles heavily as I follow the familiar path to the water's edge. I've spent months convincing myself I was done with this creek. Done with the memories waiting here.

I was wrong.

The creek hasn't changed. The water still slips over stone in the same steady rhythm. The waterfall still echoes through the trees. Even the crossing stones remain exactly where they've always been, dark and moss-covered beneath their dusting of snow.

Only I’ve changed.

I stop at the edge and listen. The silence feels different in winter. The forest stands motionless around me, the branches bare against the pale morning sky. No birds. No wind. Nothing except the water moving through the valley.

For a moment, I let myself believe that's why I came. Not because some part of me has spent the last year searching for something it knows it can never get back.

The lie lasts all of three seconds.

My hands curl into fists as I stare at the waterfall. I shouldn't have come.

Every instinct I have tells me to turn around and leave before the memories catch up to me. Before I remember every word spoken here. Every promise. Every dream. Every piece of the life that slipped through my fingers, no matter how tightly I tried to hold on.

But my feet stay planted.

As I stand here listening to the water, a familiar unease begins to creep through me, as though the creek itself has been waiting.

Watching.

Remembering.

But the mind’s a bastard. It drags you back to what hurts most.

I run a hand through my hair, the damp sticking to my skin. My reflection shivers in the water, half shadow, half man, and I barely recognize the face looking back.

“What the hell am I doing here?” I whisper.