Chapter 11 Wren
Wren
THE SONGBIRD
The floorboards creak beneath my fathers heavy boots. I know it’s him. I memorized the exact path he takes every night after I’ve been put to bed. Memorized the pattern of his steps, slow and uneven, like he wants me to know he's coming for me.
My fingers tighten around the edge of my blankie, pulling it up over my head like a forcefield that could actually protect me. The door opens and that familiar feeling of deadly butterflies swarm my stomach.
“Wrennie,” he slurs, soft and sickly sweet. The way he always sounds when he wants something from me. When something is about to go terribly wrong.
I squeeze my eyes shut, praying he’ll leave. That this time, he’ll turn around and forget that I even exist. But the bed shifts under his weight and I can’t move. I can’t breathe. My body is locked up like it’s trying to vanish from the inside out.
There’s a rustle of fabric, then his arm wraps around me, pulling me into his side. Sometimes he falls asleep like this and I'm safe for the night. Today is not that day.
His breath is warm and rancid as it hits my cheek. “You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into my neck. “My pretty little girl, just for me.”
The panic rises in my chest like a scream that’s caught in my throat; my voice, stolen like it always is. I stay silent. I’ve learned over the years that saying no to my father will only result in more pain for me.
My fingers curl around my blankie, trying to hold myself together. I squeeze my eyes tighter, willing myself to vanish. Maybe if I disappear hard enough, it won’t be real. Maybe I’ll wake up, and mommy will come. Maybe this time—
His hand moves over my belly.
Please, no. Please, not again. Please. Please. Ple-
Iwake violently, gasping as if I’ve been ripped from underwater.
The scream doesn’t make it out of my throat, much like when I was a kid, but it vibrates through my whole body.
Quickly, I sit up drenched in sweat, my hands are shaking as I grab my sheets like they’re the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.
It takes a few seconds for me to realize where I am. The light streaming through the window is soft and safe. The walls aren’t covered in dark shadows, there’s no creaking floorboard, no poison sweet voice. Just me, alone in my apartment.
What the hell is happening to me? I haven’t had nightmares this intense since high school.
After my father was arrested, they were a constant presence tormenting me night after night, until they eventually faded away.
They were a constant reminder of the trauma I went through all those years, and I was glad they were gone.
Now they’re back and I don’t know why. They’re far too close to the memories I’ve spent so many years trying to forget.
I guess ever since that night Rich grabbed me, the nightmares started to creep back in.
Pulling my knees to my chest, I rest my forehead against them as I try to breathe through the shaking.
It was just a dream. It’s not real. Not this time.
I sit there for a while, curled into myself, letting the silence stretch on long enough to tempt me into staying in bed for the rest of the day. But I won’t. I can’t.
I get out of bed, the floor cold and solid under my feet, and head for the bathroom. The girl in the mirror is pale, her eyes bruised from lack of sleep, but she’s standing. She’s alive and doing her damn best.
I splash cold water on my face and pat it dry, watching the water drip from my chin as it washes away something that’s invisible to everyone but me. The past can claw at me all it wants, but it doesn’t get to win. Not today.
Not ever again.
I throw my hair up into a messy bun, swipe on just enough concealer to dull the evidence of the night, and put on my favorite sports bra and leggings set. It’s cute-ish. Not curated, but I feel human again. And right now, that’s enough.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand multiple times. Grabbing it, I swipe to unlock it and read the messages.
Rich: Are you okay?
Rich: I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.
Rich: Please Wren. We should talk.
Rich: About the other night, I didn’t mean to scare you.
Rich: Just let me explain.
I stare at the messages for a long second, jaw clenched tight. He always wants to explain. As if any words he spews at me could erase the marks of his hands. As if excuses could untangle the damage he’s done.
Fuck. That.
Honestly, I should block him. I don’t know why I haven’t yet.
Maybe because part of me wants to see just how desperate he’ll get.
Or maybe it’s because some sick little piece of me thinks I deserve it.
But I don’t, I know I don’t, and I’m not going to sit here and let his bullshit weigh me down.
I’ve been through worse. I’ve survived worse, and I’m not that scared little girl anymore.
Pulling on my favorite oversized hoodie, I grab my keys and purse, tie on some sneakers, and shoot Olive a text.
Me: You free for coffee? I could use a distraction.
Her reply comes not even a second later.
Olive: Always, babe! Meet you at the shop in ten?
Me: See you there.
Our favorite coffee shop is already buzzing when I pull into the parking lot.
Sunlight spills across the front windows, making the inside glow soft and golden.
It’s warm and inviting and exactly what I need.
We found this coffee shop on one of our few best friend dates.
Olive and I don’t have the opportunity to hang out as much as we used to now that we live on opposite sides of the city.
However, Novel Grounds is the perfect centerpoint for both of us, so it’s usually our go-to.
Plus, it doubles as a small bookstore. Who doesn’t love coffee and books?
I spot Olive immediately through the window.
Bright pink hoodie, oversized sunglasses on top of her blonde head, and both hands dramatically wrapped around her iced coffee,clinging to it for dear life.
She sees me and practically jumps out of her seat, waving me over as if I’m some kind of celebrity. God, I love her.
I can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth.
That’s the thing about Olive, she feels like sunshine, even when I don’t want it.
She doesn’t know everything, not the darkest pieces, not what my dad actually did to me.
She just knows that he hurt my mom and I, and that was enough for her.
Enough to see the shadows under my eyes and still treat me as if I’m not breakable, but still me.
She’s the kind of person who takes up space with light. The kind of friend who doesn’t ask if you need her, she just shows up. I didn’t know how much I needed her right now until I saw her face.
I slip inside, and she pulls me into a tight hug before I can say anything.
“You made it!” she chirps, practically vibrating as I settle across from her. “I already ordered for you. You never text me first, so I figured it was either a crisis or a caffeine craving.”
I force a smile. “A little bit of both. Thanks.” My fingers curl around the plastic cup, the chill grounding me for just a second.
Olive doesn’t push right away. She just sips from her straw, watching me, full of patience.
“So,” she finally says, setting her cup down. “What’s going on, and how hard do I need to fight someone?”
I let out a short laugh, the sound surprising, even to me. “You don’t need to fight anyone. You might break a nail or something.”
Olive gasps like I just insulted her lineage. “Excuse me! I have acrylic armor. I could gouge someone’s eyes out with these bad boys,” she says, bringing both her hands up like claws.
I shake my head, the smile lingering for a second before finally slipping. “It’s nothing, just a weird week.”
She narrows her eyes, not buying it for a second. “Weird how? Like you ordered something online at three in the morning and now a taxidermy squirrel holding pistols in a cowboy hat is on the way, or weird like you saw your nasty ex in public and had to hide in the freezer aisle?”
I snort. “Neither, just stress.”
“Wren.” Her voice dips, that playful edge softening just a touch. “You’re doing that thing again. The ‘I’m fine, but I’m absolutely not fine’ thing. You texted me out of nowhere. You never do that unless you’re spiraling or someone died.”
I look down at my drink, watching the condensation bead along the plastic.
“Oh my god, no one died right?!”
I blink up at her. “No! Jesus. No one died.”
“Okay, good,” she says, exhaling with dramatic relief. “You just scared the shit out of me. My fight or flight kicked in. I was about to start planning a funeral playlist.”
That makes me laugh. She’s so crazy. “Of course you’d be in charge of the playlist.”
“Obviously. I have impeccable taste. Now spill,” Olive says, locking eyes with me.
I’m afraid she’s about to waterboard the truth out of me with cold brew.
Sighing, I swirl the straw in my drink as if it’s some kind of magic wand and it’s about to give me the courage to say this shit out loud.
I seriously wish it was that easy. “It’s… it’s Rich.”
Olive freezes, her expression shifting instantly.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
I shake my head, not looking at her. “I wish I was kidding.”
She leans in, voice dropping but her intensity spiking. “What’s that piece of shit doing now? And I thought you said you didn’t see your nasty ex in public!”
“Well not at the grocery store! He’s just texting and calling a lot. And he showed up at the bar.”
“Shit,” she mutters. “Well what’d he do when he showed up at the bar?” She’s looking at me intensely and it makes me not want to say it. Olive never approved of Rich, rightfully so, and I just know this will send her over the edge. “Spill it before I force it out of you.”