Page 119 of Reverie
My Hunter, my love, is a mess.
And I’m a mess too.
“Not hungry?” Veronica’s voice is soft as she sits next to me. Her plate is nearly clean of the deluxe sandwich and chips Misha’s cook made for her, but I’ve absently stirred the tomato soup for the last fifteen minutes we’ve sat here.
It feels fancy—the chef put it in a sourdough bread bowl, and according to the woman who cooked it, there are notes of smokey fire-roasted peppers and other seasonings that I can’t remember. Paired with it is a crusty grilled sandwich with about four different types of cheese.
“I am,” I say, picking off some of the bread core and dipping it inside the soup. “Sorry. Distracted.” I pop the bread into my mouth and force myself to chew.
Veronica hums and glances over to the short bassinet Summer sleeps in. She rocks it with her foot, sticking her bare toes out from the high-backed barstool she sits on at the kitchen island.
I stop stirring the soup and bring the spoon to my mouth.
The food tastes bland on my tongue; the sandwich is like sawdust in my mouth.
I swallow it, nonetheless.
It took three days for Veronica to see me, but not because she didn’t try. I didn’t allow anyone to see me except Dr. Whitney, and not just because I didn’t want anyone to see the bruises around my neck.
They were startling enough for me to look at in the mirror.
But mostly, I didn’t want anyone to tell me anything I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t want anyone to try to convince me that Hunter and I were wrong.
But Veronica damn near broke down my door when she met her limit, and when her eyes landed on me and she morphed into a vibrating ball of fury, I immediately started crying.
I had to physically restrain her from hunting Hunter down and killing him while I choked on my tears.
When she calmed down enough to have a conversation with me, she tried to get me to move into the room she shared with Summer.
I refused.
That started another fight, which ended in her slamming my door and storming off down the hallway as Summer wailed.
Veronica and I have called an unsteady truce. I think it’s because Hunter hasn’t bothered to show his face again.
“Can I ask you something?” Veronica’s voice is still low and measured, and when she speaks, she doesn’t look at me. Instead, she gives all her attention to her sleeping daughter.
I put the spoon down. “Sure,” I say.
With a deep breath, she breaks her gaze away from Summer and turns to me fully. With her eyes locked on mine, she asks, “Do you think you’re safe here?”
I swallow, a knot forming in my throat.
Do I think I’m safe here? What is safety, anyway? Am I safe anywhere?
“I haven’t been truly ‘safe’ since my parents died, Veronica,” I reply, not answering her question.
She blinks long and slow. With another breath, she presses on, repeating herself. “Do you think you’re safe here?”
I bite my lip, and the tears that are ever-present spring to my lower eyelids. “Veronica, c’mon.”
She slides away from the table in a snap. “No,youc’mon, Winter!” she whisper-shouts.
I bring my pinky nail to my mouth since I’ve bitten all the others off.
“Winter, you are a smart woman. You are a resilient woman. And you’re being abused. You’re beingstupidabout staying here.”
She takes her plate from the counter and scrapes her food remains into the hidden trash can. “I don’t know what to say to get you to understand that you’re in the wrong place to be real.” She shakes her head as she spins to the deep sink. Her dishes fall into the basin with aclank.