Chapter 3: Fever Dreams and Family Ties

He just lets it happen. I bite my lip, wishing I could do something—anything—to help. My heart aches.

I quickly call out, “Slow down, be careful!” My voice is small, but I hope they hear me.

I don’t want him to get hurt any more than he already has. The stablehands glance back, surprised, but keep going. I hope they’re gentle.

Before Mason can look up, I run away as fast as I can. My sneakers slap against the old wood floor.

I don’t stop until I’m back in the house, breathless and shaking. I close the door behind me and lean against it, heart pounding. My legs feel like jelly.

At dinner, Savannah recounts my performance with a headache. “Lila, what exactly are you so afraid of him for?”

The dining room is warm and bright, but I feel cold. Savannah’s voice echoes in my head, and I stare at my plate, unable to answer. The clink of silverware is the only sound for a moment. I feel small.

I press my lips together. “Hitting people... isn’t nice.” I can’t look up. I know it sounds childish, but it’s the truth.

The words come out small, but true. I don’t care if it makes me weak. I don’t want to hurt anyone, not even Mason. I wish they understood.

“Mason’s a convict I pulled out of county lockup. He was supposed to die. He’s only so angry because of what he went through there.”

Her words are matter-of-fact, but I can hear the sadness underneath. Savannah’s seen things I can’t imagine. She thinks I need to toughen up to survive. Maybe she’s right. I’m not sure.

But I remember, when Mason first went to jail, he was framed by someone. The memory is hazy.

I remember the gossip—how he was set up, how no one believed him. I wonder if anyone ever apologized. Probably not. The thought makes me sad.

I bury my head lower, listening to my siblings talk about finding people in Maple Heights to protect me. Today... I listened to Savannah, hit him, and cursed him. Their voices swirl around me, full of plans and promises.

I wish I could disappear. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me. My head aches.

I gently turn down their good intentions. “I should be able to take care of myself.” The words surprise even me.

I want to believe them, but I’m not sure I do. Still, I have to try. My hands are clenched in my lap.

Hearing this, Savannah can’t help but raise her voice again. She slams her fork down, frustration etched on her face.

“You’re not even trying, Lila!” Her voice rings out. I flinch.

“Is that what you call hitting someone? Even the dumb cat your brother keeps is tougher than you!” She rolls her eyes, exasperated. “Tater Tot’s got more guts than you do!”

Her words sting, but there’s a hint of affection there, too. She just wants me to be safe, even if she goes about it the wrong way. I know she means well.

“Our Tater Tot is not a dumb cat!” I blurt it out, cheeks puffed.

Tater Tot is a little orange tabby with more attitude than sense. He’s my only real comfort some days. I stroke his head under the table.

My brother, Lucas, waves for me to leave. He gives me a tired smile, gesturing toward the door.

“Go on, Lila. Get some rest.” He tries to sound reassuring, but I see the worry in his eyes. I nod.

So I stand up, nod to each of my siblings, and leave the room. My feet are heavy as I climb the stairs to my room.

I give each of them a small smile, trying to show I’m okay. The house is quiet, too quiet. I close my door softly.

That night, I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see Mason’s sharp stare. My stomach twists.

The moonlight creeps through the curtains, painting silver lines on the walls. I toss and turn, haunted by memories of the barn, of Mason’s eyes—cold, unreadable. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve done something terrible. I sigh into my pillow.

I wake up scared several times, wiping away tears from my eyes. The sheets are damp, and my pillow is stained with tears.

I hug Tater Tot close, his purr a small comfort. I wish someone would tell me what to do. My mind races.

I find the Neosporin my brother gave me and quietly sneak out to the shed. The house is silent, everyone asleep.

I tiptoe down the hall, the ointment clutched in my hand. The night air is cool, and the grass is wet with dew. My heart pounds as I cross the yard. I hope no one sees me.

There are no lights here. I bump into something, my shin aches, and tears spring to my eyes. I bite my lip, trying not to cry out.

The shed is dark, the air thick with dust and the smell of old wood. I fumble for the door, my hands shaking. I try to steady myself.

Mason hasn’t slept either. I can sense him before I see him—a quiet presence in the dark.

There’s a heaviness in the air, like a storm waiting to break. I pause in the doorway, heart pounding. I wonder if he knows I’m here.

He closes his eyes, listening to the faint footsteps and quiet sobbing nearby. He probably knows who it is. I sniffle, wiping my nose.