I couldn’t imagine something so traumatic happening to my child, only to give her a nickname inspired by it. She was six years old, drawing angel wings because her mother tried to kill her, thinking it was special. She had no idea how fucking morbid it really was.
And for her to see something as horrific as what he did to Georgia, to tell her a cut-up, mutilated body was an angel just like her. Then to get her angel wings tattooed on him, as if to remind her every day what an angel truly was to him, how he threatened to make her mother one, too…
Fury flows through my system like lava. I’ve never wanted to drive to California more than this very moment.
“Did you ever tell your mom what you saw? And what he threatened?”
Rev’s lips tighten into a thin line, and she shakes her head. “No. Even if she would’ve listened, she wouldn’t have believed me, and I had no proof, anyway. After his sentencing, I worked up the courage to go into his shed, and it was… just a normal man cave. No trace of blood, no box of hair, nothing to validate what I saw. It fucked with my head so bad, and for years, I questioned if I imagined it all.”
She meets my stare, somber and defeated.
“I know you don’t think I lost a parent—not like you did—but I lost my dad the second I stepped inside that shed. And I loved him so much.” Her voice cracks at the end. She quickly diverts her focus back to the ground, but not before I see the tears well in her eyes. It takes several swallows before she speaks again. “I know you can’t imagine it, but for a little while… he was an amazing dad. A soul can die, even if a heart still beats.”
I shake my head, reaching out to brush my thumb over her soft cheek, reddened from the cool air. “I know you did, baby. I don’t doubt that anymore.”
Her face twists as she fights back tears, and she turns her face toward the bleeding heart plant, away from my touch. Even as she bares herselfto me, I still feel the walls erected all around her, so I let my hand fall away. It’s taking everything in me not to force it, but fucking hell, do I want to.
“And your mom?” I pry, my voice tight. “You told me about her when she was alive. But what about losing her?”
She heaves out a heavy exhale, and for several moments, she seems to think over what to say. “Lionel was her entire life, and the day he was sentenced, her grief became a prison far worse than the one my father was condemned to.”
I glance at her, noting the distant look in her glazed eyes.
“There were many times I caught her staring at me with this just…” She struggles for words for a beat. “Just purehatred. I remember those moments so vividly because of how much they scared me. I know she tried not to hate me, and I know she felt guilty for drowning me, but I also know there were many days she still wished she had succeeded.”
The mere thought of Regina succeeding nearly sends me into a blackout rage. My fists curl tightly, violence stirring in my chest. It’s only Reverie’s soft voice that just barely drags me back from the edge.
Reverie sniffles then shrugs her shoulders. “It had nothing to do with depression or psychosis and everything to do with who Regina was as a person. You know better than most how firmly she held on to grudges. Once someone gave her a reason to hate them, there was no going back, no forgiveness. Whatever love she had for me was intrinsic, and it was just enough to make her wait until I was eighteen so I didn’t get put into the system, and by then, she was so exhausted and miserable from just being alive, she didn’t care to wait for Lionel to be up for parole anymore. I think she did us both a favor when she stepped off that stool.” She shrugs, peering down at her fidgeting hands as she whispers, “At least I wouldn’t have to see her disappointment anymore every time I walked in the room.”
My upper lip curls, thoroughly disgusted. With Regina. With Lionel.
Withmyself.
Has she ever truly known what it is to be loved? To be properly cared for? Her father was a monster, her mother incredibly broken, and they both made her suffer nearly her entire life.
Iam a monster, and I made sure she suffered, too.
I clench my jaw, hating myself just as much as I hate her parents.
Our trauma isn’t the fucking Olympics, but in many ways, Reveriehas suffered far more and for far longer than I did, and I played a huge hand in that.
But now… now, I want her to feel good. Happy. To experience a day without suffering. To know what it’s like to be loved and wanted. I want to be the one to make those come to fruition.
I want her to come home to me and see there isn’t a single fucking soul I’m happier to see more than her.
I will always have my mother’s love, and, as desperately as I want her to come back so I can feel it again, she never will. But I’ve never had Reverie’s, and I think I need it more than I need to breathe.
“It’s why I chose the name Reverie when I changed it,” she tells me, bringing my focus back to her. “For years, I watched my mom sit in his recliner, lost in another world where they were together and happy again. I wanted that so badly for myself—for someone to love me like that—but I knew the only way I’d ever be a reverie was if it was my name.”
I open my mouth, prepared to tell her how very fucking wrong she is, but she doesn’t let me get a word out.
“Tell me about your mom,” Reverie urges quickly, as if she sensed me about to correct her. There’s a tinge of that heart-stopping fear lurking in her gaze, but she also peers up at me with genuine curiosity. “What was Katherine like?”
I nearly growl with the frustration, hating that she’s still running from me. I’m so fucking impatient where she’s concerned, but I also know if I’m going to do this right with her, I can’t push her too much too fast. So, I let it go.
I release a heavy exhale. A million different adjectives come to mind, but I settle on the two that encompassed her most.
“Gentle but fierce. Sometimes, it looked like she floated when she walked, yet she was this impenetrable force. Her touch felt like a breeze, but her conviction was like a hurricane.” I shake my head, a kaleidoscope of memories spinning through my mind, each one constricting my heart more than the last. “She hardly said no, but when she did… there was no convincing her otherwise.”
