Soft || 18+ Reverse Harem ||

69 - River

. . .

Dahlia

A few months went by. The town had stilled because of the death of my family, and people looked at me like I had done it. They all thought there was a serial killer on the loose. I let myself fall into depths of grief.

Hedeon and Andros kept me company, which I rarely allowed, but Lucian and Alexandre did not show their face.

"Dahlia."

"Yeah?" I asked as I turned.

Marie was leaning against her car, two coffees in her hand. "Wanna go to the river?"

"Only if you let me drown."

She pointed her keys at me. "That is not funny."

. . .

We sat on the bench. We had come here after Evan's funeral months ago. Marie and I sipped on our coffees, staring at the passing water in silence. It was raining a bit again. I washed my hair today, after too long. I didn't want rain to ruin it, but I didn't want to move.

I was exhausted. I hated moving. Or even taking. Or even breathing. Everything required too much energy. It required too much effort. I wanted to get into that river and let the current do the work. I wanted to stop holding my body together.

"How's the coffee?" Marie asked.

"Fine," I muttered. "Good," I added later because I wanted to be nice.

"You know when I reapplied to a bunch of universities?" She asked.

"Yeah."

"I got in."

"That's amazing."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

"That's good."

"How are you?"

"Don't ask me that." I shook my head.

"Okay." She hesitated. "Are you still with them?"

"I haven't talked to any of them in the past...three months."

"You love them."

"Grief outweighs love, I guess." I rubbed my hand on my jeans. "I don't want to feel anything," I admitted. "Good or bad."

"How long do you think you'd be able to keep that up?"

"I don't want to think of the future."

"What do you want to think of then?"

"Nothing," I said. "I want to be completely, and utterly free of everything. I want absolutely nothing."

"Nothing," she repeated, looking defeated. I didn't know what to say to her to give her hope.

She was leaving. She'd find new friends, friends who'd be better than me. She'd talk to them without worrying about them shutting her out. She'd smile at them without worrying about them.

She'd be happy.

"Can you drop me back to my apartment?" I asked after a while.

"Of course, Dahlia."

. . .

It was late at night when I found myself shuffling through Noah's journals again. My hands paused when they reached the one he had addressed me in.

I opened the page. Whatever he had written couldn't hurt more than everything did.

Dear Dahlia,

I don't hope for things. Hope is a fool's emotion. Yet, when I found out your mother was pregnant with you, I hoped beyond everything that you'd be my daughter. Then I found out that you weren't and every bit of that foolish, ridiculous hope shattered.

I had so much love for you, and I knew I'd never be able to express it fully. Your father, my brother, never allowed me to get close to you and he never loved you, either. You wouldn't believe how many times I begged him to let me take care of you. But I suppose it was a power play. He hated that your mother loved me before him, so he kept you from me.

Many things have gone wrong in my life. Cynthia ruined me, Dahlia. I hate that you know the details, I wish you didn't, but I am sure you'd read these journals the second I am gone. I do not blame you. Your curiosity is one of the many things I adore about you.

I know your father is never good to you, and I cannot help but feel responsible. Know that it was never your fault. You don't blame the flower for dying, you blame the gardener for not watering it.

Your family doesn't define you. If someone pulls away or constantly hurts you, you have to let them go, Dahlia. They may consider it a betrayal. But better be a villain in someone else's book than a victim in yours. Life happens to be a bit too short to allow yourself to be treated like you're less than you are.

Your existence has always been a beacon of hope. I do not care what a DNA test says, I do not care what your father says, I do not care what anyone else says.

You are my daughter.

I know things trouble you. I know things have always been hard for you. I know I am to blame. I know I should have removed myself from your life to make my brother perhaps forget about me. But I couldn't keep myself away, and for that, I am truly sorry.

I am sorry for allowing them to hurt you. I am sorry for not telling you why my brother acts the way he does towards you.

You are not at fault, Dahlia. Everyone else is. I failed you, and you paid the price.

The most painful moment of my life was when I visited you in the hospital when you tried to take your life. You were just thirteen, yet you were so sad.

You said you did it for attention. You admitted it to me. I need you to know that it wasn't for attention, Dahlia. You wanted love. Needing love is not filthy, it is not selfish, it is not a crime.

You aren't bad if you want good things. You aren't wrong if you want good things. You are, to put it in simplest terms, human.

A thirteen-year-old should be wondering why her father doesn't love her. A thirteen-year-old shouldn't be picking up a razor and trying to bleed the pain away. But when a thirteen-year-old does that, it isn't her fault. It's everyone else's.

I love you, Dahlia. I might be gone, but I hope I have shown my love enough that it stays with you.

Till we meet again (in whatever form of afterlife you believe in. I do not want to, however, meet in hell. Please stop saying you'll go to hell. It is not cute)

Noah

I closed the journal.

"Fuck," I whispered, lips shaking with the effort to keep the sobs in. "Fuck you, Noah." I wiped the tears away, finally, finally, feeling something. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you-"

I covered my face with my hands and cried till I crumbled like I never had before. I cried till my ribs ached and my body shook as if trying to rip itself away from my sadness.

I cried till I fell asleep on the floor.

. . .