Chapter 31 Dread #3
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.
With myself.
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.
I am 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, Reverie has 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.”
One memory drifts to the surface, its sharp edges scraping against the inside of my brain. It’s the one that forces itself to the forefront no matter what I do.
“I tried to convince her not to go on that date with Lionel. I was pissed she was moving on from my dad. But she wanted to go, so she did, and that’s all there was to it.
The last time I saw her, I was so fucking angry.
” The admission tastes like acid, eating away at my throat as it pours from my tongue.
It’s not only guilt I carry for the way I treated her, but shame. And so much goddamn regret, it could keep me fed for a dozen lifetimes.
“I was at that age when I was too old for my mother’s affection, so we found a compromise. One of us would blow a kiss, and the other would pretend to catch it and kiss our fist.”
I try to swallow, but my body is overflowing with shame, and there’s nowhere for the saliva to go.
“She blew me a kiss on her way out the door, and I refused to catch it. I instantly regretted it, but I was too stubborn to call out for her to come back. If I had, Lionel would’ve known I was there and saw him, and there’s a good chance she would’ve come home that night.”
The grief unleashes in my body all at once.
Swelling my tongue until it chokes me, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
Caving in my chest and crushing my heart until it bursts into pieces so tiny, it ceases to exist. Weakening my bones until they struggle to support me.
It’s an all-consuming type of agony. It invades every one of my senses and embeds itself inside me so deeply, it becomes a part of my DNA.
It will remain as permanent as the color of my eyes or the shape of my smile.
I grind my molars as tears rush to the surface. I clench my fists tightly, tremors rattling my bones from the effort to keep them at bay.
I jolt when I feel Reverie’s small hand wrap around mine. It’s instinct to relax, allowing her soft fingers to thread with mine.
My brows draw forward as I look down at our linked hands through blurred vision, wondering how the fuck I got here—how we got here.
Even more, I wonder when the fuck she made me fall in love with her.
A single tear slips down my cheek, but it’s impossible to wipe it away. Between the grief and the revelation I’m completely, fucking outrageously, in love with the daughter of my mother’s murderer, I’m frozen.
One D’Amour shattered my goddamn heart, and another stole the pieces for herself, assembling them into some fucked-up rendition of what a heart is supposed to be. I don’t know if it even works anymore, but quite frankly, I don’t fucking care. It’s hers to deal with now.
“I know there isn’t a single thing I could say to make you feel better,” she begins softly. “But if you want the truth, part of me is glad Lionel got out.”
I blink, almost sure I didn’t hear her right. Slowly, I turn to meet her steady gaze.
“There’s an opportunity to kill him now. And…” She shrugs, almost sheepishly. “It’s one I’d happily take. Or even let you take, just as long as he dies.” She pauses for a beat before tacking on, “Maybe make him suffer first, though.”
I don’t know if it’s possible to fall in love twice, but it doesn’t feel like enough. The agony doesn’t dissipate—I’ve learned that it never will—but it does ease, making it a little easier to breathe.
“You’re wrong,” I rasp, my voice raw and deep as I face forward again. “That did make me feel a little better.”
It’s been years since I’ve cried—even longer since anyone has witnessed it. The last time was the day I planted my mom about a week after arriving here, my knees buried in the soil while Rogue and Severen crouched on either side of me, each with a hand on my shoulder as I quietly wept.
Back then, I vowed to make Reverie’s life miserable. And now, I vow to fucking kill anyone who dares make her feel even a modicum of pain.
“Can I know about your dad and your grandmother? You’ve never spoken about them much.”
I blow out a breath while I scrounge up more painful memories.
“My grandmother was pretty sickly most of my life. She battled ovarian cancer off and on since I can remember, so she spent most of my childhood at home with a nurse. She passed two years ago, and truthfully, I felt relieved. She suffered so much, and I know she was tired.” Another heavy exhale.
“As for my dad, I don’t remember much. I couldn’t tell you what his voice sounded like or the color of his eyes.
I do remember that he used to play catch with me all the time, though, and that my parents were both deeply in love.
He died when I was five in a car accident.
There was a bad snowstorm, and he was driving to work, even though my mom pleaded for him to call off.
Hit ice, slid off a cliff, and crashed into some trees.
Even if he survived the impact, branches impaled him through the chest and throat. ”
Reverie winces, likely picturing the brutality of it. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”
I nod. “I’m only sorry I let my mother’s death consume me so much that I forgot to mourn him, too. His death hit me really hard, and I thought my mom was betraying him by going on that date.”
“Do you still think that?” she asks quietly.
“No,” I say. “I understand now that his death broke her, too. Going on a date with Lionel was just an attempt to move on. But even if he wasn’t a serial killer, I don’t think it would’ve worked.
” My gaze brushes over her beautiful features as I say, “She was searching for the type of love she had with my dad, but you only find that once.”
Reverie meets my eyes, and I know she feels it, too. That heart-stopping, breathtaking, electric-tasting type of love neither of us will ever find in anyone else.
She clears her throat, her cheeks flushing red as she glances away.
“I don’t know why you’re staring at me like that. We’re still fighting,” she says, though her breathing has escalated, and she can’t stop flicking her eyes in my direction.
One corner of my lip twitches involuntarily.
“Even if we weren’t, I’m sure one of us would find a reason to change that within an hour.”
She’s quiet as she finally allows her stare to slice me open, carefully peel back my skin, then peer beneath the surface, searching for answers to questions she won’t ask aloud. If she needs to claw me open to see the truth, I’m happy to sharpen her nails.