Page 63 of Reverie

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

When I release the tension from my spine and flop back on the bed, Kitty hops on my chest, licking my cheek.

It would be so incredibly easy to fall into old patterns, but I want to try not to.

I want to try…for me. For Hunter. For our family.

That thought prompts another: I need to find August.

With a stretch and a yawn, Kitty hops from the bed and sits patiently at the door, anticipating my need to leave. With a huff,I get out of bed and pull my chunky braids into a high bun. Slipping on some Chucks and leggings, I go to the tall dresser and pull a plaid shirt over my camisole. With one final look at my appearance, I escort Kitty out the door.

I decide to hit the courtyard first. Kitty has a designated spot to do his business, which was easy to find again, even in the daytime. But when I was shown the way yesterday evening, I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of this new space.

I let Kitty take the lead and bound off around the bushes. Honeysuckle, lilac, and jasmine adorn the space, with tons of greenery surrounding the cobblestone pathways. Kitty lets out a yip and begins to chase after a bunny rabbit, and I suppress a laugh at his discontent when it bounces off faster than he can keep up.

This feels peaceful—so peaceful that I’m able to ignore the fact that I’m sitting in an open space that’s surrounded by four sides of concrete, bomb-resistant walls.

I am calm. I am peace.

I close my eyes and inhale the scents of the plants around me.

I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.

I cross my hands over my chest to seal the affirmation.

When the French doors I just exited open again, Kitty leaps over to greet the newcomer even though I’m slower to turn.

But when a body launches into mine, I let out a quick shout.

“Winter! My God, I thought I’d never see you again!” Ella’s voice causes my racing heart to slow, but when she squeezes me tighter, I can’t help the yelp that comes out of me.

“Oh, God! I’m sorry. You’re hurt!” Two seconds pass as she watches me grimace, but then she breaks down into tears.

“I’m sorry, Winter! I’m just so glad you’re alive!” She reaches her arms out to hug me again, and I stick out my palm to stop her as I stand.

She sniffs, putting her hands over her mouth, but when I lift my arm to embrace her, she wails into my shoulder.

I’m just so damn glad she isn’t catatonic still. I pull back to look at her. It’s...curious how she’s flowed through different extreme mental states—flat and dissociative on the couch in the media room to weepy yet...amped up?

I pull her back into my body and pat her back. Grief. People deal with shock and trauma in many ways, and each person should be given the space and respect to grieve.

This is Ella’s expression of grief. Right?

“Ella, how are you feeling? Have you….”

What? Settled in—as if this were a hotel stay and not us seeking refuge from a known international criminal.

“I’ve…come to terms with what has happened. I mean, it’s so much, Winter. But when you face down death like that... Shit, what the fuck am I talking about? You’re the one who actually faced down literal death. I can’t believe that cunt shot you!”

A chortle sounds from the doorway, and suddenly, I’m the one with the urge to run.

Except I want to run toward the voice.

“Aunt Ella, you know you are not supposed to say ‘cunt.’ It is in bad taste,” August says.

Ella rolls her eyes. “Just because you use the word in the context of a quote doesn’t mean you can use it. I’m an adult. You’re a kid. Got it?” Ella tries to look serious, but she breaks character when she pulls a bag of Sugar Babies from the pocket of her shorts.

August looks better than I thought he would, all things considered. While the shadows beneath his eyes show the stress of the last two days, he moves as he always has.