Nessian Trash Panda

The sun bleeds orange through the pines when Nesta finally finds what she hopes might be the right road. By then all she has are Feyre’s directions, scrawled in purple gel pen on the back of a Starbucks cup sleeve, because her sister apparently still believes in whimsy even when Nesta feels like her world is ending. The GPS gave up somewhere past the state line, leaving her squinting at the looping handwriting, holding the sleeve at different angles to read the impossible combination of brown and shiny purple in better light, the overwhelming urge to murder Feyre growing stronger by the minute.

Left where the asphalt ends. Then it gets tricky.

Tricky had been an understatement. The roads have deteriorated from highway to the scenery route to something that barely qualifies as maintained.

Right at the boulder that looks like a sleeping bear. If you hit the creek, you’ve gone too far and you’ll have to return until there’s a fork in the road.

The drive was supposed to take five hours, but it’s taken her almost the entire day. Not even her bout of insomnia could drag her out of bed early enough to beat morning traffic. She hasn’t been able to do much of anything efficiently, truly, ever since the funeral three weeks ago. She’s also not used to driving long distances alone. She hasn’t needed to, living in a city where everything is a subway ride away. And on the rare occasion that she did embark on such an undertaking, she never used to go alone. Her father would come with her on trips like this, before things went to shit. He was always content to sit in the passenger seat with his crossword puzzle, occasionally reading clues aloud until she solved them for him, even though she knew he could almost always solve them himself. But that’s all past tense. She’ll never go on trips like that again, because she’s part of the dead-dad-club now. This drive has been the longest stretch of uninterrupted time she’s had with her own thoughts in three weeks. She’d made a playlist in an attempt to drown out her own racing brain, but after the second repeat she’d turned it off.

Another reason she’s quickly losing daylight is because she made so many coffee stops her back teeth appear to be floating. She’d stopped at rest areas, drinking terrible coffee from vending machines and taking bathroom breaks in an endless cycle, each gas station bathroom more depressing than the last, with its flickering lights and paper towel dispensers that wheeze out single squares. She’d sit in her car in desolate parking lots trying to remember why she thought this was a good idea. The question would be answered by Feyre’s voice in her head every single time. You need to get away, clear your head a little. Just for a weekend. Rhys has this cabin, which used to be his mom’s cousin’s. It’s very quiet and remote, somewhere upstate near the mountains. It’ll be good for you, having some time to yourself.

Time to herself. To do what? Fall apart where no one can see? Finally scream the way her body has been demanding for three weeks? Be alone without Elain asking if she’s eaten, or Feyre’s worried eyes following her from room to room?

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