Amanda.
Olivia.
I’m trembling, crying, downright spiraling by the time they’ve finished. My lungs burn from the effort of keeping my sobs silent, butmy pride still clings. I can’t let them see me break down fully.
I don’t know how much time passes before I hear leaves and twigs crunching beneath shuffling feet. I’m terrified they’re going to do something else, so I gather enough strength to shove down the remaining tears. I can’t do much about the tracks they’ve left down my cheeks, but at least he didn’t see them fall.
I inhale a deep, shuddering breath and exhale slowly. Then, I smooth out my expression and toss my hands from my face to fling the dirt piled atop away. When I open my eyes, only Dread remains, still in the same position.
Seeing him reignites the rage burning in my stomach.
I hate him.
I hate himso fucking much.
And sometimes, IwishI could be like my father, if only to remove him from my life—permanently.
I scowl, and it takes several attempts to swallow before I trust myself enough to speak.
“God, you really are dreadful,” I spit.
He gathers dirt in his hand before propping his arm back on his knee, his posture casual as he studies me quietly.
I’m almost convinced he won’t answer—until he does, his voice devoid of emotion.
“My darling, it isyouwho is dreadful.”
He tosses the dirt, and I flinch away once again. When I look back at him, he murmurs, “Rest in peace, Mom.”
Then, he stands and walks away.
CHAPTER 8
REVERIE
When I pictured what country I’d eventually move to, I hadn’t considered the United Kingdom. But after countless hours of research, I found one of the best universities with a criminal justice program is right in London.
I was sixteen when I first heard about victimology. It was a light-bulb moment, learning I could work as an advocate for victims subjected to similar situations as myself. And when I imagined working with children specifically, supporting them in a way I never was, it was the first time I felt like I was born for a reason. My life had a purpose.
It’s a lonely fucking existence, growing up in a household with one parent who tried to kill you and another parent threatening to.
However, now that I’m staring at all the paperwork needed to upend my entire life, move across the world, and transfer my credits, I’m considering just letting Lionel take me out.
Becausemy God. It’s…somuch fucking paperwork.
I have it all spread out on a long wooden table tucked in the backcorner of the campus library. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic in my room after sequestering myself in there for so long. After seeing flashes of that damn bloody dummy out of the corner of my eye a dozen times, convinced it was still there, I decided I've been haunted enough, and it was time to get the fuck out.
Thankfully, the library is still open today, even though it's a holiday, and back here, I still have solitude.
And the best part—I don’t have to worry about Dread finding me.
Today was the first day I came out of my room since crawling out of that fucking grave three nights ago. I hadn’t even realized Dread was gone until I heard my classmates talking this morning, and the relief was dizzying. He left the morning after Craig’s party, for some swim meet thing, and when I eavesdropped on a few classmates in class earlier, they claimed he won’t be back for another three days.
Thank.
Fucking.
God.
