Page 207 of Plaything

“I told you to stop saying that,” Niko gently scolded, his hand holding mine. “Are you okay?”

No. Yes? My professors were safe. I protected them and was proud of myself. I’d do it all over again if I had to. When I thought about it, that was all I cared about. I was happy, happy that I saved them.

So why? Why did I feel so... shattered? I had a goal that I achieved. I went there to make things better, and I did. I had a few bruises and scrapes, but I stuck up for myself and for the men I loved. I won.

A pain lingered in me. It wasn’t physical; it weighed in my chest and my stomach. When Dominic asked me what hurt the worst, I lied. My arms were terrible, and even now, they throbbed. It was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

Why couldn’t I have made up dreams and nightmares? Fake monsters and fake problems. Why did I have to dream about the past and memories that hurt?

My shoulders wracked with a silent sob as I placed my hand over my mouth, trying to keep it together.

“Baby,” Wyatt traced his thumb along my cheek. “Talk to us. What’s going on?” He pried.

“I...” I let go of Niko’s hand, holding my face in mine as I cried. “I don’t want to dream anymore,” I confessed. “And I miss...”

Deep down, I was still that little girl. My father was capable of being kind. I’d seen it before. Some part of me clung to that part of him, desperately hoping that one day, that was the father I’d know again. It was stupid and childish... but so was I.

That was what this sadness was. The part of me that clung to the idea that one day we’d be a happy family vanished. I had to let go of it. It hurt so fucking much to let go of that fantasy. There were a lot of reasons that would never happen.

For now, I had to be okay with the fact that I only had a few happy days with my dad before he became Charles. I was so incredibly heartbroken for my childhood self who’d come up with the idea. She carried that hope into adulthood, only to have it beaten out of her by the same man she always tried her best for.

“I shouldn’t be sad,” I swallowed hard. I didn’t know how to explain how I felt to them. To an outsider, he was nothing but evil, abusive, and cruel. Somewhere in there, at least at some point, there was a sliver of a man who liked being my father.

Wyatt gently pulled my hands away from my face. “There are no shoulds or shouldnts with emotions. You are sad, and it’s okay to feel that way, even if you think it’s wrong. Your body and your mind are telling you how to feel. Listen to it,” he declaimed.

“I hate him,” I confessed bluntly. “So much...” Wyatt and Niko listened to me without saying a word. “It hurts because I didn’t—I didn’t hate him as a kid. For so long, all I’ve thought about was how horrible he was,” I said between hiccups. “But there were good days,” my words faded as I cried.

They were quiet, watching me with sympathetic gazes as they took my blubbers in. Niko ran his hand through my braided hair, twirling the end of it.

“It’s okay to hate him,” Wyatt said, lying on his back, gently pulling me with him. Niko followed on my other side, wrapping his arm around my middle. “I think... sometimes we have to mourn the versions of people we wanted them to be,” he said, placing a tender kiss against my hairline before resting his head in the crook of my neck.

Laying back down, I felt sleep try to swallow me again. Wyatt’s soft-spoken words replayed in my mind, and I realized he was right. The pain I felt in my chest was mourning. Charles still had a couple days left, but the version of him I clung to—my dad—died tonight.

“Odette,” Niko whispered a few minutes after Wyatt’s breathing evened out as he slept.

“Hm?” I hummed, barely turning towards him. He was lying on his side, his hand underneath his head, propped up by his elbow. He rarely called me by my name, and hearing it in his sleepy rasp felt intimate.

“When you dream, do you dream as yourself now or when you were young?”

“I’m always a kid. Sometimes, I’m trapped in my younger self, knowing what I know now, screaming at myself, but I can’t hear my voice. Other times, it’s just twisted memories,” I explained. A part of me was glad he asked; I hadn’t told anyone the details of my dreams before.

“I might be stepping into Aiden’s territory here,” he chuckled once. “But, it seems like your subconscious is trying to protect your inner child. I’m no expert, and it kills me that I don’t know how to help you,” he admitted, and I heard the frustration in his tone. “You have friends that can help you; who know what you’re going through,” he kissed my shoulder. “Dominic told you to count the stars. Reesia would tell you to write your younger self a letter, letting her know that everything’s okay—at least, that’s what she does (or did) when she got bad,” he laid his head on the pillow next to mine as he spoke.

“I’m not good with words like Wyatt or have all the answers like Aiden does, and I can’t help you like Dom,” he prefaced. Turning to fully face him, I prepared to tell him that his comfort and love were more than enough. However, he spoke again before I could. “But I’ve got one hell of a memory. You have a big heart, and a day will come when you might not hate Charles or convince yourself he wasn’t that bad. It could be the day they put him down like the perro he is, five—twenty years from now. The day will come, and on the day, I’ll be there to remind you what he did. I’ll tell you where each bruise was, its size, and the color.” His voice was laced with venom as he whispered into the night.

[Dog.]

I’d never heard him speak with so much hatred, and it made chills run down my spine. The entire night, he’d looked like he’d seen a ghost. Now, I understood that he wasn’t as lucky as the rest of us. We wouldn’t forget, but we didn’t have photogenic memories like he did. He memorized every single mark Charles had left on me. It explained the terror in his eyes and the tears that I pretended not to see.

“So if you’re ever considering forgiving him, I won’t allow even a dead man the courtesy of your love. And if you can’t hate him, I’ll hate him for you,” he promised. His eyes closed as his arm joined Wyatt’s around my waist. “Now, close your eyes, stop thinking, and sleep. I’ll chase any bad dreams away,” he placed another kiss against my shoulder.

He chuffed with his eyes closed before muttering, “I’ll chase them to Dom’s room. I don’t think your monsters will be as successful facing him,” he thought.

A subtle smile crossed my mouth as I watched him. And here he thought he couldn’t comfort me as much as the others...

They were all so special—so incredibly gifted and lovable in their own ways. The ache in my chest lessened as I closed my eyes, reflecting on how thankful I was to have met them, let alone know and love them.

Even Cat, wherever the rascal was. I loved all my guys, and although I hated what I had to do to achieve it, I loved that we had our bubble back.

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