Page 5 of Reverie

The guard hands the bottle to Father, and he unstoppers it.

“Think about it while she dies.”

Father tips the alcohol over Mom’s bare shoulder. She sputters, but it only takes a second before her skin begins to turn red and bubble.

She screams, and the sound stabs my brain.

I watch in horror as her skin bursts, leaks—eaten away by whatever Father just poured on her.

Not alcohol. Acid.

She tries to flail away, run away, but with her bound hands and feet, all she can do is endure the pain.

Her screams turn to sobs, and I rush over to her, falling over myself as I try to save her. The sharp, foreign scent of her skin crumbling away assaults me.

Mom screeches, “Don’t!” and I stop dead in my tracks.

What do I do? What do I do?

I want to vomit. I want to sob.

What do I do?

“Hunter. Tell me what I want to know!” Father bellows.

I look back at my mom, and even though her face is gray with agony, her mouth makes two shapes.

O. K.

I shake my head.

“No!” I yell.

Father growls, then before I can react, he tips the jug over Mom’s head. She flinches at the last second, but it still lands on the right side of her face.

More screams.

What do I do?

Her skin melts, melts, melts like wax. I take another big step toward her.

“No, Hunter! No! No!” She shakes her head, rubbing the side of her face on her shoulder on instinct. She writhes and, at the same time, deflects my advances.

“What do I do?” My voice cracks, and I grab my hair, completely helpless to the tears that spring out of my eyes, the sobbing that wracks my body.

I’m breaking. I’m breaking.

“Tell! Me!” Father roars.

He comes closer, but my gaze turns to Mom when she begins to shake in violent tremors.

When Father raises the jug, ready to pour the acid on my body, I fall to the ground, covering my head.

Father lets out a dark chuckle, pulling on my arm to expose more of my skin. “You’re a pussy, Hunter. A weak mama’s boy.”

Two guards grab me, and my scream rents the air. They spread my arms wide, exposing my whole body right as Mom shouts in a foreign-sounding tone. “It’s,” she draws in a sucking breath, “ok-ay.”

I turn my head to look at her. As soon as our eyes meet, she blinks hard. The remaining part of her mouth twitches. A flicker.