Chapter 8 Reverie
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.
Because my God. It’s… so much fucking paperwork.
I have it all spread out on a long wooden table tucked in the back corner 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.
It put an extra pep in my step when meeting with Kendra afterward and figuring out everything needed to finish my degree abroad.
And now, this paperwork is giving me a goddamn migraine. The pep has officially been fucking stomped on.
Groaning, I pinch the bridge of my nose, the pounding in my head becoming persistent. It’s after five p.m. now, and it doesn’t help that I haven’t eaten much today. I think I’ve only taken a total of four sips of water, too.
“Reverie Adams?”
The soft voice nearly sends me flying out of my chair. I jump, my head snapping up and eyes bugging while my hand flies over my chest, barely keeping my heart from bursting out.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I breathe, my tone bordering on angry as I peer up at a girl I don’t recognize.
She stands on the other side of the table, her arms holding a few notebooks to her chest and shifting awkwardly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says quickly, biting her bottom lip as she cringes. She looks anxious but also… excited? Like she's vibrating with energy while sunshine beams out of her asshole.
I blink, taking in her curly black hair falling past her shoulders, her light brown eyes, light freckles that cover the entirety of her pale face and bleed down to her chest and arms, and the bright red cat-eye glasses perched on her button nose.
“Y-yeah?” I ask hesitantly.
After recent events, I’m not exactly trusting of many women around here, especially if they’re dangling from the tip of Dread’s dick.
“Sorry, I know you don’t know me yet. My name is Roxi. Can I sit?”
She points to a wooden chair across from me, and before I can get a word out, she pulls it out and sits, anyway.
I just stare, mouth parted and mind racing, reeling from the absolute randomness of this.
She doesn’t seem to have negative energy emanating from her, but I refuse to relax until I know exactly what she wants.
I clear my throat after a beat. “Yeah, please, sit,” I mumble, waving toward the chair she already occupies.
Not that my invite was necessary, apparently.
She sets her notebooks on the table and links her fingers in front of her with a little excited wiggle. Her eyes are lit up with barely contained glee, and a smile stretches across her round face.
She stares at me as if I already know exactly why she’s here or who she is.
And I am… so lost right now and very on edge. I'm fully poised to dart out of here, paperwork be damned.
“C-can I, uh, help you?”
“Sorry, sorry,” she rushes out again before giggling. “I get ahead of myself sometimes. Lionel is always telling me to slow down, but life is so short, ya know? Why not go through it at full speed?”
The second my father’s name falls past her lips, her voice fades behind a shrill ringing. My vision tunnels, and though she sits in the center, chattering excitedly, her mouth moves soundlessly.
She said Lionel’s name.
Why the fuck did she say his name? And why the fuck did she say it like she knows him? Talks to him?
“Reverie? Uh, Reverie? Hello? Rev?”
Roxi’s cold hand covering mine snaps me back to reality, my vision expanding and her concerned voice reaching my ears.
I blink then snatch my hand out from beneath hers before settling back against my chair to stare at her. The blood has leeched from my face, and my heart pumps wildly.
This has to be another one of Dread’s cruel jokes. I’m not sure why, when he's not even here for the event, but as far as I’m concerned, he would torment me from beyond the grave if he could.
“I’m sorry,” I say almost robotically. “Did you say Lionel? As in, Lionel D’Amour?”
Roxi’s brows pinch, and she slides her gaze to the side, as if there’s someone beside her who could explain why I’d ask that, then back to me again.
“Y-yeah. He’s your father, right? Oh fuck, did I get it wrong? Are you not his—” She cuts herself off, panic getting the best of her, and her cheeks flushing red.
My mouth flops for a moment before I say, “Yes, he's my father.”
She visibly deflates, her entire body slumping dramatically while a smile splits her face in half once more.
“Oh, thank God. You had me worried for a second! I know how a lot of people in this school are Team Dreadful, so that could’ve been a sticky situation.”
She says ‘Team Dreadful’ in a deeper, mocking voice then titters out a high-pitched laugh when she’s finished.
It feels like a black hole has formed in the middle of my chest, and now, it’s caving in as I’m sucked into the hungry mass.
“Sorry,” I mumble, blinking rapidly and shaking my head. “How do you know Lionel?”
Her face drops, and once again, she glances to the side nervously. “Oh… D-did he not tell you about me yet? Fuck, I’m so stupid.” She slaps her palm to her forehead, muttering more insults beneath her breath.
“Tell me what?” I snap, now growing impatient. A cold sweat blooms throughout my entire body, and panic swirls in my gut.
I need to know what the fuck is going on, and right now.
“Shit, he’s gonna kill me,” she whispers to herself, closing her eyes in defeat.
My eyes bug, and then hers fly open, instantly realizing what she said. She waves her hands in front of her quickly. “Fuck, not literally. Oh my God, I’m messing this entire thing up.”
She heaves out a heavy breath and splays her hand out in a placating gesture. “Okay, let me take a breath and restart.”
Clearing her throat, she straightens and holds out a hand for me to shake.
“Hi, my name is Roxi Jenkins. Lionel and I have been together since my sophomore year. So, uh, I’m your dad’s girlfriend.”
I—
No.
Absolutely the fuck not.
My mouth parts, my world teetering on its axis. I turn my knees to the side to get up but then stop, my brain short-circuiting. I don’t actually know what the fuck to do with myself at the moment.
A waterfall of emotions pours through me—shock being at the forefront, but also denial, disbelief, fury, and definitely horror.
For several moments, I stare at her while trying to process the words that came out of her mouth.
I misheard her.
Yeah, that’s definitely what happened.
Because there’s no fucking way on Satan’s barren Earth this chick just told me she’s dating my fucking father—who’s fifty-four years old.
Cheeks brightening, she slowly pulls her hand back, realizing I have no intention of shaking it. I start and stop a sentence several times, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a complete sentence.
She lets out another nervous laugh. “I know this is probably a shock. I mean, we’re the same age, and Lionel’s obviously old enough to be my father, but I promise, I’m not after him for his money or anything like that.”
I—
What?
My parents definitely weren’t poor when I was a kid, but they certainly weren’t rich, either. Lionel’s not a goddamn billionaire—not even a millionaire. He worked as a car salesman before he went to prison, for fuck’s sake.
I think I’m having a heart attack. It’s racing a mile a second. The ache in my chest expands with every passing heartbeat, and I cannot breathe.
So when I continue to stare in stunned silence, she blabbers some more.