12. retrospect

12

retrospect

Rivian

TWENTY-TWO YEARS AGO – July 21st

"Cwiffs, Wivian! Cwiffs!" Troian's tiny voice squeaks up at me as she jumps up and down, her tiny little braids bounce on top of her head in excitement.

" Cllliffs ," I correct her, I hold the L sound against the top of my tongue a little longer so she can hear me say it better. I've given up on the R in my name at this point. I know she'll get it eventually. At only three years old she actually talks a lot more than most toddlers her age, but she can never get the L s or the R s right.

My father gives me a glance, shooting daggers at me like I'm not allowed to help Troy correct her pronunciations and even though I know he can't stand me, I simply smile at him and follow along as I'm told, leaving the situation alone.

I don't want to go to the cliffs. I don't want to be near the water. It brings me back to memories that I would rather keep locked up and buried away. It hurts too much.

Thank God he's not coming with us or I'd be prepared to do something that would warrant me getting locked up in the basement once more. I'd already been there for three days . . . what's one more?

Natasha grabs the twins' hands and leads the way to the back of the castle where we exit through the glasshouse and find the stairs that lead down the side of the cliffs.

My father said he had important business to handle today so he had asked his maid to take us to the cliffs for a few hours. How fatherly of him.

The four of us reach the bottom of the cement stairs, the steepness of the cliffs getting less and less scary each time I make the descent. The shore soothes its way against the sand line as the water waves gently in the distance; the sun shimmering against the top of the ocean.

It's a sunny summer day. The birds echo their songs in the sky as they hover around the tops of the cliffs. The sound of the ocean waves crashing gently against rock and sand is representable of the sound my mother would play for me on my noise maker when I was four. And the heat of the sun against my skin feels incomparable to that of the cold air in the dark dungeon. It's like heaven. Yet, why do I hate it out here?

I look over to see Troy try to run off into the water as Natasha chases right behind her, both letting out laughter.

"Keep an eye on your little brother," Natasha shouts behind her at me as she disappears with my little sister.

I always listen to what I'm told. Even if it's not something I want to do and even if I'm being given an order by someone I don't like. But I like Natasha. She always does her best to make every day a little brighter, no matter how dark the days become she is always making sure we are taken care of, and I'm grateful at least the twins have her.

I turn to check on Travois. He's plopped down on his butt, his hands in the sand and his legs out in front of him. He says no words, shows no emotions and looks right up into the sun.

"Travois, you shouldn't do that. Your eyes will burn out their sockets." I tell my brother, obviously overexaggerating the threat, but he doesn't listen anyway. He never does. And maybe I shouldn't mess with him like that, he's just a baby really. But with almost six years between us, I guess I don't really know how to parent a baby.

Their mother is absent, and our father isn't the most cut-out for parental life. At least not that I've noticed. So all they really have is me and Natasha. And maybe their mom if she ever decides to come back.

I turn away and let him do his thing, if he wants to hurt his eyes before he's even big enough to see the world, so be it. There's nothing special out here anyways.

Troy and Natasha splash against the waters, laughing and enjoying the sun. I curl my toes into the sand and do anything other than imagine my last time out here. But it's hard, because the way I see Natasha play with my little sister is the way that my mother played with me, and I miss it.

I miss her.

Natasha is like me . . . a human. Or an Outsider as most people who aren't like me call them. But one day I'll be like them . . . a vampire and I don't know which is worse.

I focus on my toes in the sand. I dig them and, squeezing the tiny grains between my toes and then drag them out, watching the sand move beneath my feet as I do so. I drown out the sound of the ocean, hitting timelessly against the shore. I avoid the sun's rays, not wanting to bask in its glow. I tune out the laughter of my little sister as she splashes in the ocean waves and runs from Natasha.

I keep my eyes on my toes in the sand. It's not hard to disassociate. I've been doing it since I was five. It's not a far-fetched statement to say I've matured quicker than most kids my age, but most kids aren't destined to be a blood sucking monster who is slated to take over a kingdom some day. Most kids don't have to watch their mom cry for help as she's dragged away and sworn to forget everything she loves, most kids don't have to suffer the abuse of their royal father who gets off on burning and starving his son. I am not most kids, so I sit here in the sand wishing someone would bury me in it.

That is until harsh screams meet my ears and only then do I look up to see that Natasha is desperately grabbing for Troian before crying for my attention.

I look over, Travois is missing. And that's when I look ahead of me a few feet into the water to see that my little brother is drowning.

I take off toward him, and the moment my toes burn at the sting of the cold water, I falter. I don't mean to. But the memories…

"Rivian!" Natasha yells for me, likely urging me not to go in, or maybe begging me too. I could stay back and watch Troy while she runs in after Trav, but I'm already here and I need to face the water.

I continue, one foot after the other running as quickly as I can to get to Travois. His gurgled cries sound in my heart as it beats relentlessly for the fear that my little brother might drown.

When I finally reach him, a wave pulls him under and the only thing I can think to do is to go with him. I'm not afraid of the water or of getting lost in the depths of the blue ocean, but I hate that all I can think about as I reach in is my mom.

She taught me how to swim. She played sandcastles with me as the waves crashed them down. She ran after me once as the blue waters threatened to take me with them and I hate that my siblings don't have a mother to do that for them . . . to protect them or look after them.

As I sink into the water, barely able to touch the ground, I see Trav barely kicking with all his might before I reach for him and yank him to me. It's not easy, I'm not strong and I'm worried I might lose whatever adrenaline I have right now.

I don't know how it happened, but as I hold on to him, a wave pushes us toward the shore and I'm able to stand on the bottom of the sand floor which allows me to bring us both up for air.

"Rivian!" I can hear Natasha's voice shout with worry and as I blink my eyes from the salty water's assault, someone is pulling Travois from my arms.

But then my feet are swept from under me by another wave and I am forced under.

Counting is a good distraction, I can hear my mother say. Whenever something scares you or you feel too small to fight, count. I promise you'll last longer than you believe.

Sure, my mom taught me how to swim, and though I nearly just saved my little brother on my own, that's where my experience with the ocean stops. I don't swim and I don't go near the water.

The waves start to pull me in deeper and deeper and I can't feel the ground anywhere in reach. I open my eyes, but I don't see anything so I close and open them again hoping that somewhere, light will find me. I try to swim up but go right. I try to kick my legs but my arms give out. I can't breathe, but I need to. The water rushes through my hair, through my ears, and tangles my feet and I don't know which way is up anymore.

I'm drowning.

My eyes feel hot, my heart is about to burst out of my chest, my body goes numb.

Everything screams.

But then, everything stops.