302 Anything to Hold Onto

    iMeredith.1 /i

    I didn’t even realize where my feet had carried me until I looked up and saw the tall, familiar doors of

    Draven’s study.

    My breath caught. For a moment, I considered turning back, but before I could stop myself, my knuckles

    rapped lightly against the wood.

    But there was no answer, so I pushed the door open. The room was empty.

    Relief and disappointment tangled in my chest. Slowly, I stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind me.

    My hand lifted to my cheek, wiping away the trail of tears. My face burned at the thought of anyone seeing

    me like this.

    I just needed someone or something–anything to hold onto.

    And that was when my eyes drifted to the sitting area, to the sofa where I had sat yesterday morning, when

    Draven had poured that strange creamy drink for me..

    We had spoken so openly then. His honesty had hurt, but it had also settled something inside me.

    And right now, all I wanted was that same sweetness, something to distract me even if it was for a moment.

    I walked to the shelf, scanning the bottles until my gaze snagged on the one I remembered, a palebel–a

    thick liquid that glimmered faintly in the ss.

    I reached for it immediately, the cool weight of the bottle steadying my hand, if only slightly.

    Grabbing a clean ss, I carried both over to the sofa and dropped down with a sniffb, /bsetting the bottle on

    the stool.

    My fingers trembled slightly as I uncorked it and poured, the creamy liquid swirling as it filled the ss.

    Then, I lifted it to my lips and took a slow sip. The sweetness bloomed on my tongue, smooth and rich.

    For a moment, I closed my eyes, letting it coat my senses, pretending it could wash away the heaviness inside ollime. /li/ol

    302 Anything to Ho Dete

    But the taste lingered only briefly before my thoughts returned, sharper than beforei. /i

    Who was to me for all of this?

    My siblings, for hating me? For despising me simply because I was loved?

    Or my parents, for sowing those seeds, for pouring all their affection on me and neglecting the others until

    jealousy was all they could feel?

    My throat tightened. My chest ached.

    I didn’t know who deserved the me more, but I knew one thing–none of it had ever been my fault. And

    yet, I was the one who bore the weight of it all.

    I set the ss down carefully on the stool, pressing my palms against my knees, my eyes stinging again.

    Leaning back into the sofa, I stared at the ss in front of me. The faint cream–colored liquid shimmered in

    the dim light, almost mocking me with its softness.

    My hand hovered, then dropped uselessly against imy /ip.

    No matter how sweet the drink, it couldn’t drown the bitterness of truth or fix the iache /iinside me.

    I pushed my hands against my face, groaning softly into my palms.

    Just then, Valmora stirred. “Meredithi, /iiyour /isiblings ihated /iiyour /iibecause /iiin /iiyour /iiparents/i‘ ieyes/i, you were

    ieverything /ithey weren’t. And iwhen /iithe /iimark /iicame/ii, /iithey /iirejoiced/ii. /iiYour /iipain /iibecame /iitheir /ivictoryi. /iIf this wasn’t

    inferiorityplex, iwhat /iielse /iicould /iiit /ibe?”

    Instantly, that realization carved something deep in me; grief, betrayal, and anger all woven together until I

    couldn’t tell one apart from the other.

    “I idon’t /iithink /iiyou /iishould /iiwaste /iiyour /iiemotions /iion /iithose /iipeople/ii. /iiBut /iI can isee /iventing iis /iiprobably /iithe /iionly /iiway /iyou

    ican /iifeel /iibetter/i, so I iwill /iilet /iiyou /iibe/i,” Valmora said to me, realizing I wasn’t ready to have any conversation with

    her.

    Hot tears slid down my cheeks again, unbidden. I hated this. I hated giving my siblings this power. I hated knowing their cruelty could still pierce me so deeply.

    My shoulders sagged as I lowered my hands. My gaze drifted back to the drink.

    16:19

    302 Anything to Hold Onto

    Slowly, I picked it up and took another sip. Then I set it down harder this time, the ss clinking against the

    stool.

    I clenched my fists in myp and whispered to myself, ‘It wasn’t my fault. It was never my fault:

    But no matter how many times I repeated it, the words barely scraped the surface of the wound.

    **biDraven/i/b~**

    As I approached the study, the faintest shift in the air made me pause at a presence, subtle, yet unmistakable.

    My eyes narrowed instantly as I concluded that someone was inside.

    But who is it ithat /iiwould /iiwalk /iinto my study without imy /ipermissioni? /i

    Immediately, I reached for the door and pushed it open. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.

    Meredith. She was curled on the sofa, her shoulders slightly hunched, her eyes red–rimmed. And on the stool

    beside her sat an open bottle of the creamy liquor I had filled for her yesterday, and a half–filled ss within

    her reach.

    Her head lifted at the sound of the door. Our eyes met briefly before she quickly turned her face away, wiping

    at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

    My chest tightened instantly at that sight.

    Without a word, I closed the door behind me. My strides lengthened, carrying me across the room in

    seconds.

    She looked so small in that moment, so unlike the strong, unyielding woman who often stood toe–to–toe with ollime. And I hated it. I hated the wet shimmer of tears clinging to hershes. /li/ol

    “Meredith,” I said softly, my voice heavier than I intended.

    Her gaze flickered back to me, and that single nce was enough to drown me in worry.

    I lowered myself onto the edge of the sofa, my gaze briefly flicking to the bottle on the stool. My jaw

    tightened. Half the contents were already gone.

    302 Anything to Hold Duto

    That drink was deceptively sweet, masking its strength–stronger than most would guess. I frowned.

    wondering how she wasn’t already slumped over.

    But then, as I looked closer, I noticed it: the faint ze in her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged too heavily,

    the uneven rise and fall of her breath.

    She was tipsy.

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