Alyssa's POV
The river smelled like wet stone and old leaves.
I noticed that first, because my mind is grasping for anything other than the reason I was there.
The current of the river kept clashing against the bank rock, splashing water on my feet.
Finally, I took off my shoes and placed them neatly on the bank. I don't know why I do that. Maybe an old habit that seemed to be long forgotten in my memory. Or some useless instinct to be orderly, even now; even here.
The wet mud was cold between my toes as I stepped closer. The hem of my white dress brushed the water, drinking it in greedily and turning heavy.
I stared at the surface of the water, watching the moon ripple apart every time the current shifted.
People always say suicide is selfish.
It is, but they never talk about how exhausting it is to keep living when everything inside you feels hollowed out.
I closed my eyes. This momentarily enchaned my senses, and I could feel the beating of pulses, the unsteady pump of my heart, and anxiety dripping through my skin.
The first step hurted, as the cold bit into my skin, sharp and sudden, like punishment for hesitating. I gasp softly, but didn't retreat. The water climbed my calves, my knees, my thighs.
Each inch stole warmth, feeling, and stole the weight of my body until I feel lighter, but heavier at the same time.
I should be afraid. Instead, I feel relieved.
The river didn't judge me the way the pack did; it didn't expect me to be strong, or right, or worthy of the title stitched to my name. It didn't whisper about my failures when it thinks I can't hear. It didn't lower its voice when I entered a room and watched me closely with a disgusted look.
It just takes.
When the water reaches my waist, my breath stutters. My heart pounds hard enough to make me dizzy. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small, cowardly thought whispers, 'You can still turn back.'
As if.
I shook my head and dismissed the thought of hope. I'm done turning back, looking for hope in my life.
The river surged, stronger here, tugging at my dress, dragging it downward. It reached my chest, my shoulders. Coldness seeped deep into my bones, sharp enough to make my teeth chatter.
I think of nothing important.
Not the meetings. Not the expectations. Not the way Atlas looks at me like I'm a problem he hasn't figured out how to solve yet.
I think of how tired I am.
Then my foot slipped.
The world tilted violently, and suddenly, I'm underwater without a warning.
The cold was unbearable. It slams into me like a living thing, stealing the air from my lungs in a violent rush. Water flooded my mouth, my nose, burning all the way down. I tried to inhale and choke instead, and panic exploded through my chest.
My arms flailed uselessly, instincts screaming even as my mind begs them to stop. The river spins me, disorients me. I can't tell which way is up.
Finally, this is the end. The End.
But something clamped around my wrist, and it was not gentle.
The grip is iron unyielding, furious, and before I could think of anything, I was yanked upward so hard my shoulder screams. I break the surface, coughing violently, dragging air into my lungs like balloons.
I was hauled onto the riverbank and was thrown onto the ground.
I retched, coughing while my body convulsed as water spilled from my mouth. My chest burns. My throat aches. I shake uncontrollably, curled into myself, every nerve screaming.
The sound of boots crunching against gravel reached me, and I didn't have to look to know who it was.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Atlas's voice cuts through the night, low and sharp.
I forced my eyes open.
He stood over me, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes glowing faintly with restrained fury. His chest rose and fell hard, like he ran the entire way here. His hands were clenched, knuckles white, as if he was barely stopping himself from doing something worse.
I laugh weakly. It comes out broken.
"Dying," I rasp. "You ruined it."
In a second, he was crouched beside me. His hand shot out, gripping my arm hard enough to hurt.
"You don't get to decide that," he snapped.
I tried to pull away, but I was weak, shaking, and my muscles refused to cooperate.
"Of course, you decide everything, and like a porcelain doll, I should follow you," I whisper.
Something dark flickered across his face, maybe anger or something colder.
Before I could react, he hauled me up and slung me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing at all.
"Put me down," I protested, my voice hoarse. My fists hit his back, weak and pointless.
"No."
"You're not saving me," I say. "You're just..."
"Enough." His voice was a final warning. "You don't get to throw your life away because things got hard."
I laugh again, bitter this time. "That's not the reason why..."
He didn't ask what the reason was, and before I could realise, my voice died, and tears silently left my eyes.
The man just carried me; his cold body was not helping me physically, and his cold behaviour was not helping me mentally.
****
My room had never felt so small.
Atlas dumped me onto my bed with little ceremony. Water soaked into the sheets instantly.
I sat there, tears dried on my cheeks, while shivering and staring at my hands as if they belonged to someone else.
"Change," he ordered. "Get warm."
I didn't move, nor did I react. Sitting silently in the same position felt revolting, like a child protesting their parents.
He stepped closer, towering over me. "Alyssa."
I met his cold gaze, something hollowed, cracking open in my chest. "Please, leave me alone. You can't keep me locked forever."
"I can," he said flatly. "And I will if you insist on taking your life."
After assigning a maid to clean me, he walked out of the room.
The sound of the slammed door echoed louder than it should.
I stared at the door long after he was gone, my chest tightened while my head spun.
Even death didn't want me.
The maid wiped my body with hesitation. She didn't like me. I could tell it from her expression, which screams at my face to get out of the pack.
I felt relief after the maid left, but the night stretched endlessly.
Every time I closed my eyes, I was drowning all over again. Every time I opened them, the walls felt closer, tighter, like they were pressing in.
Morning came anyway.
It always does. But every morning, it was me who was different from my previous self.
While my thoughts drifted me away from reality, a knock at the door jolted me awake.