A/N: Well! It's been a hot minute, yeah? I deeply apologize for being gone for so long. My semester was very taxing on my time on top of my job, so I am sorry but I have some time and I was able to get in some writing and I hope this longer chapter makes up for it!
I truly do apologize, I love you all and I thank you for being so patient with me.
I hope this chapter makes up for my missing time, I hope to get things moving along a bit more with this story and preparing for Book 2 as well! (Yes there will be a Book 2, don't worry)
Enjoy!
Taylor POV
The drive back was silent, the only sound being both of our running thoughts, but I could not figure out what Wren's were saying. All that I could focus on was the look on Wren's face at her mother's cries. The cries of a woman realizing she were a fool, that she lost out on a brilliant young woman, a woman she chose to miss out on raising, a woman she chose to treat like dirt on the bottom of her shoe, a woman I've been trying to pick up the pieces of when she trembles at night, jumps at sudden sounds, stresses about a little speck of mess on her floors.
She could not possibly have been serious about returning tomorrow morning.
That visit to her mother showed me more than I ever wished to have imagined could have happened to Wren in her childhood.
"This never would've happened without you, Taylor."
She's right.
This is all my fault, I brought this on. If I just stopped pushing, just let it be, then this would've never happened. I handed her right back to her mother and I can already see the claw marks she's begun to dig into my girlfriend once again, before the previous scars have even fully healed.
It was supposed to be simple. Come to London, get time away from the cameras and the people, the bright lights of it all, do our work quietly, cut off Alice from Wren completely, and get on with our lives.
This is anything but simple now.
She's been sitting by the fire while I stare, plucking at guitar strings as if the words will come to me, but even music is failing.
I cannot figure out the words.
I don't know what to say but I know what I want to say.
The thoughts are flying too fast for me to grab at any letters and place them in a coherent sentence.
"She told me she loves me."
My fingers move on the strings, plucking lighter, grazing over the metallic things as if going too hard will destroy the world, careful and soft.
Her hair is tousled, the brownish blonde locks brushing just shy of her shoulders now. I can't see her face, but I can hear her expression. Eyes wide and unblinking, staring into the flames for answers neither of us have.
I lick my lips and stare at the back of her head, praying that this goes well as I say, "She did."
Her swallow is loud enough to reach me, her shoulders tense and back, like a kid who's just been scolded for bad posture attempting to overdo it to please.
The guitar strings vibrate beneath my touch, humming in harmony of the crackling flames between the stone atop the ashing wood, both trying to say their piece of the situation, but too quiet like the cowardly ways of my tongue.
"She wants to get to know me."
Coward. I am a coward. I've been so vocal with Wren, so open and honest like we promised one another, and now it's as if I'm a meek little deer, frightened at the first sound on the road.
She speaks with such hope, hope that squeezes at my heart, tears at my soul. Hope that I am terrified to be ripped away from her, but I know I should try and warn her of it.
It's Wren.
This is the woman I love, the woman I've fought tooth and nail for thus far. I will not let her succumb to a person posing as a mother, taking advantage of the raw wounds she's left on her daughter.
"Do you think that is a good idea?"
She shifts, my stomach turns, fingers slipping from their usual second nature movement on a guitar, strumming a horrendously sharp tune of wary and worry.
When her eyes fall unto mine, the look aches at me, gnaws at my heart that childlike innocence she portrays.
"Do you not?"
An opening.
She looks so fragile, her heart laid out for anyone to see, anyone to crush, and she's waiting to see what I'll do with it. But I'm not crushing anything, I'm only wrapping it in a warm, safe embrace, protecting it from the outside threats.
"I worry that it may not be. I worry that she is aware of your vulnerability and has had years to put in a real effort aside from one phone call and yet did nothing until you showed up on her doorstep prepared to cut her off. She jumped at the opportunity, spoke of your childhood, reopened a still healing wound and took advantage. I worry her intentions may not be as great as you believe."
"She did message me once."
Now my fingers fully stop. I press the guitar aside, letting it lounge against the throw pillows on the couch as I straighten, not looking away from her for a second.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Wren sighs and shrugs her shoulders, as if what she just said wasn't a huge reveal, like it's a common every-day-thing.
"It was a whiles back. Said she was happy I got out of our home, that I didn't follow in her and Dad's footsteps. Then she asked me for money..."
Mother fucker.
"And you gave it to her."
That's how this started, it wasn't a random thing that began, it was Alice taking advantage from the jump. Yet Wren is still allowing this woman to sink her claws deeper. She can recognize my expression, can translate my wordless messages with just one muscle movement of my face.
"She's my Mum."
"She is nothing. She doesn't deserve that title, Wren, and you know it. You've said it."
The white baroque marble fireplace kisses the wood paneled flooring beneath it, the wood layered with the primarily red ornate carpeting cushioning Wren as she sits, her fingers messing with loose strands of cotton, picking like a child to a peel.
Her bottom lip pushes out into a pout and the frustration only boils more, despite me trying to redirect it. It's not Wren I'm mad at, it's her leech of a mother. Feeding on Wren's vulnerability, on her generosity and kindness. It's sick.
"I know that, I know what I've said but..."
"But what?"
I soften my voice, move my way to the carpet to sit beside the woman who resembles so much of the seven year old in that photo book with the braids, innocent blue eyes soft as a serene lake, not a hint of a ripple just before the waking hours of a town.
She hugs her arms around her knees and presses her cheek against one, tilting her head towards me so that I can see the red rimming around her fragile gaze, the cerulean stained with her mother's touch, the demons of the past gripping at the color again like dementors sucking the soul from them, taking them hostage to place in Alice's grip, fighting against the one I'm still holding onto for dear life.
When Wren parts her lips again, the tremble in her bottom one squeezes at my heart, yanks at the strings. This woman has been in my life for less than a year and she's become the most important thing to me, the one thing I need to survive, and seeing her in such pain, in such a clear emotional and mental battle, it hurts.
"She said she loves me, Taylor."
A lump forms in my throat. The broken rasp, little squeaks in her voice, hurtles me towards tears, but I hold back the best I can, I sniffle and wipe away any weakness that could show and take her hand into mine.
I smile softly and swallow, "Maybe you should call Doctor Fox, yeah? I'm sure she could help you with this. A lot happened today, Wrenny. It's bound to be overwhelming and confusing. I don't want you to make any decisions while you're this emotional, okay? Give her a call. It should be around five pm over there, I'm sure she'd be more than willing to talk for a little bit."
She stares at me, then past me. I don't say anything, I just observe, watching as the thoughts cross her gaze, the debate, the process. It's like she's staring at another version of herself, while the stubbornness in her own head, the desire to not ask for help and tackle it on her own like she's been brought to believe is the only way to do things, sink or swim, fights against it.
Which will win?
A breath.
She looks down again, sucks in another breath and releases, offering a slow, unsure, but knowing nod.
"Okay."
I can't control the way my eyebrows shoot up in surprise, the way the fire itself seems to suppress its loud cracks like breath being held.
"Okay?" I ask.
Wren wipes at her eyes, clears her throat and hums out an agreement, pulling her phone from her pocket and standing while typing away.
"Okay."
I can hear the frustration in her tone. I can see the hesitation, the struggle to actually follow through, but the pride in my chest swells, despite knowing she's most likely irritated with me. She's doing it.
I can take her being mad at me. She can be mad all she wants, so long as this is handled the right way, so long as she is getting help through this situation that she needs an unbiased opinion and aid from.
Before she can say anything else, or get more annoyed, I stand up, taking my guitar and kissing the side of her head, smiling gently and tapping my fingers against the base of the instrument.
"I'll be in the library. Take as much time as you need."
Wren nods stiffly, muttering out a quick "thank you" that I know must've been a force, but I smile nonetheless and give her shoulder a squeeze before disappearing around the corner.
The notes come smoothly to me. I play to drown out the sounds of Wren's voice in the other room, trying not to eavesdrop, but it only gets more difficult when I hear choked sobs slipping through the cracks of the door in front of me.
"Seeing that she kept photographs just...I never knew that she cared. At least not to that extent. I can't forgive her for what she's done but...part of me wants to know this version. Maybe that's fucked up, maybe it's not right and she doesn't deserve it, but don't I deserve to get even a sliver of a decent mother? To see what I could've had? Don't I deserve that? Everyone else has a family, has parents who love them, or siblings or what have you. Why can't I just have this?"
I close my eyes as the pain overtakes me at her words, shaking my head and focusing on the chords, but her voice has gotten louder. It grows and shrinks, telling me she's walking in circles around the room, pacing the way she does when her mind becomes too loud for her to bear.
The call lasts a while, not that I am complaining, but by the time it is finished, I'm five seconds from falling into a REM cycle on the couch. I only wake before the deep sleep takes place when I feel Wren moving my guitar until it's perched up against the wall. My eyes flutter open, noticing the way hers are red-rimmed, dull and full of pain.
"How'd it go?" I whisper.
She glances my way and shrugs, kneeling down beside the couch, brushing the hairs away from my eyes and tracing over every inch of my features like she's coding them to memory.
"Would you come with me tomorrow? Dr. Fox thinks it'd be best to have you come along, and I agree. Strength in numbers sort of thing and I don't trust myself enough to stay strong around her. She thinks you're my anchor of some sort, keeping me grounded in rationality and healthy ways instead of reverting back to my childhood thinking."
I reach up and feel the warmth of her cheek encasing my palm, my chest buzzing up with joy and comfort.
She's not mad.
"Of course I will go with you."
The sparkle seems to return in her eyes, gentle and soothing, open and honest, that same look she gave when she started letting me in.
Wren offers a clipped nod and clears her throat, "Very well then. Up to bed?"
Needless to say, despite things looking up, tomorrow is still a huge day and every single time Wren whines and or whimpers in her sleep, I whisper sweet nothings back, lulling her into comfort the best way I can.
I may not get sleep that night, but I'll be damned if Alice steals Wren's.
Wren POV
What do you do when the woman who gave birth to you that has done nothing but torture you for seventeen years until you finally escaped suddenly is an entirely different person and tells you all the things you longed to hear? Do you just turn a blind eye? Ignore it? Tell her to go fuck herself?
I only wish I could do that.
I know Taylor does.
But sitting here, in my mother's flat, my old flat, seeing her putting an effort into her appearance, hair looking healthier, no beer bottles scattered about for me to pick up, no more stains in the shag carpeting, no late bills piled high on the coffee table, it's hard to ignore it.
It's not like I'm accepting she's just this entirely different person, but don't I owe it to my younger self to give her even the smallest glimpse of what a mother should be?
"I hope you came a little hungry, I've been trying out a new french toast recipe, adding milk to the egg mix."
Mum places a platter of french toast in the middle of the table. I've never eaten a meal here before, at least not with other people around.
I stare down at the plate as Mum starts saying something about how she got the recipe from the internet and saw someone on YouTube talking about adding milk to the eggs for a better fluffier whatever. All I can focus on is this table. My fingers curl around the edges, toying with the top, waiting to feel the dip on the right leg of it beside me, but it doesn't.
No dip.
My eyes glance down at it, expecting to see a folded up paper plate to even it out like how I always had to but there's nothing there. And the leg isn't pale and misshapen, different from all the others since I picked it out of the rubbish on the side of the road after school once.
She replaced it.
She fixed it.
It looks perfect.
Sturdy.
"Fatina, one of the nurses from the rehabilitation center I was at owns a lovely little shop a few streets down near town. Freshly squeezed orange juice, no added chemicals or anything. Just pure orange. I remember how you liked the pulp, Wrenley, Dear."
I look up and see the eyes that look a lot like my own, I can see the effort, hear it in her voice. I can feel Taylor's eyes on me, watching, studying, worrying.
Clearing my throat, I smile lightly and lift my glass for her to pour me some juice. Every drop that falls in, I nearly wince.
"Pulp? You know how I feel about pulp."
My hands tremble as I pour my father a glass as he asked, the citrus still buried beneath my fingernails from attempting to rid of all the pulp with a strainer.
I swallow and glance at Mum who's already on her third smoke of the day, wearing the same shorts as yesterday, hair thrown up in a bun since water's been out for the week until I can pay the bill. She looks up at me briefly, then turns away, going back to texting on the flip phone that's barely hanging on by a thread.
Dad glares up at me from his seat and slams his cup down, the sound sending rippling shutters throughout my body.
"Can't you do anything right?"
"I-it was all we had at the corner store, Lou says we should get another shipment in soon. I tried to take it out for you...I'm sorry."
He gruffs and looks me up and down, eyeing me like an ant he wants to squash before shaking his head.
"Pathetic. I'm not drinking this rubbish."
"It looks great, Mum," I speak lightly and take a cautious bite, humming surprisedly at the delightful taste.
Taylor's eyes are still on me and it isn't until her fingers touch my leg that I realise I've been shaking. I nod reassuringly to her and make sure to see that she eats at least a little bit.
"So, tell me, how's life in the States, hmm? Those Americans treating you alright over there?"
I toy with the pieces of toast I cut, swirling it in a small puddle of syrup and shrugging, "Better than I ever was here."
Taylor chokes briefly on her food while my eyes fly wide open. Mum looks down at her plate and nods, "I understand. I'm glad they do."
My girlfriend eyes me warily and I wish I could do the same to myself. It slipped out, I couldn't help it. Sadi, well, Dr. Fox told me this could happen. She said it'd bring a lot of emotions out of me and the things I haven't gotten to say to her will flow right out uncontrollably. It's one of the reasons I needed Taylor here. If she weren't, I'm scared of what I will say or what I will allow myself to feel again.
My anchor.
She perks her head up and sips her orange juice, looking around, then at the paint can by the wall, "So, you're painting?"
Mum follows her line of gaze and grins, "Started to. Haven't had much time to get it going any further but it's a work in progress. Takes time to make things right."
The unfinished paint job laughs at me, mocking me, telling me we are "the same." Complete rubbish if you ask me. But maybe she's on to something.
My ears tune out Taylor and Mum when my phone buzzes.
Flossie: What is this rumour I hear about you being in Game of Thrones? You keeping secrets from me, Grant?
I grin widely at the text and type back, laughing mentally at the posts I've seen of people fancasting me for the show, and the brief conversation I've had with Christi about it.
Me: Nothing concrete. Just talk. Emilia and showrunners reached out, something George RR Martin mentioned about adding a new character since he hasn't finished the books. Emilia claims that Daenerys shouldn't end up with a man and if she were to be with anyone it'd be a kick ass woman.
Flossie: Don't you DARE screw this up. If you get to be with the Mother of Dragons I will simply never be sad ever again. I will live vicariously through you, happily so.
Taylor clears her throat, jolting me back into reality, Mum clearly trying not to look like she was watching me zone into my phone and I mutter a quick apology.
"Sorry, just Florence."
"How has she been?" Her tone falls, shoulders tensing.
She remembers. That much I know. If there was anyone who gave Mum mouth, it was Florence. She was never one to be shy when it came to Mum whenever she'd get a glance at her over the years.
Florence would glare at her as much as possible. And when Mum had picked me up from acting camp that one time she ever did before she got annoyed and made me handle it from then on, Florence so boldly stated that she was a "bad person."
I definitely paid for that one, but Florence didn't really filter herself much, and she didn't have to grow up as fast as I did, she didn't know any better. Plus, it was Florence who got me out, whisking me away that night when she knew it was worse than ever.
Mum never liked Florence, always saw her as a threat, said she was "an entitled rich girl who knows nothing of real life and thinks she's better than everyone." In reality, Florence just knew I was better than my parents.
"She's been alright. Working a ton, but her profile's getting bigger by the day."
She hums and clears her throat, "Always a nice girl that one."
Taylor smiles and nods, "Florence is the best–" "You don't have to sit there and lie. You've always hated Florence."
My words come out like sharp spikes shooting across the table. I can understand her wanting to try, but she's lying. She never thought Florence was "nice." She's never had a nice thing to say about her. And I'm not about to let her flip the script on it, rewrite history and make me feel like I'm crazy.
The two women in the room stiffen and Taylor sucks in a sharp breath while the guilt for lying to Florence chews away at me. Here I am scolding my mother of lying when I've been lying to my best friend for years.
Ironic that the thing I'm calling Mum out for is lying about that best friend.
"You're right. I never liked her."
Taylor's head shoots over to Mum and her whole body straightens up, like she's bracing for an outright brawl. She's waiting for Mum to crack, she's been waiting to see it since yesterday, but neither of us have.
I wait, watching as the guilt sets in and the regret seeps into her eyes as she finishes off her food, shaking her head and looking across at me.
"I knew she would take you from me one day. I knew the day you two became friends that you'd realize you deserved better. It was selfish of me, but I was never known to be a good person, now was I? Florence made that pretty clear. Today, I am grateful for her, grateful she saved you and got you out, protected you from your father and I. I regret how I treated you and your friendship, I regret trying to keep you two apart. But I am more so grateful and glad that my attempts failed, because you were happier and better off for it."
Her words hit me like a brick to the heart. Loads of 'em. And my plan to be stern and unforgiving begins to waver. The cracks aren't there, at least not from what I can see. She's actually happy for me.
And when I begin to tell her about all the projects I've worked on, seeing the smiles and the way she leans in, giving me her full attention, cleaning up the table despite mine and Taylor's offers to do so, only tells me that something has changed for sure.
"So you two met at the Met Gala? Back in, when was that? May?"
I nod in confirmation and Taylor smiles at me, no doubt reminiscing about that first moment, when we both reached for the same Old Fashioned. I will never forget that moment, that night, the night that single handedly changed the trajectory of my life.
"Yeah. Wren in all her buzzcut hair glory," Taylor says with such dream to her tone, such awe and adoration, and it's in that moment I realise just how heavy her love is for me, how deep it must run.
That night ignited the story of us, thrusted us into this journey, a journey that has been nearly six months in the running now and she has already become the most vital part of my being. She wanted to come with me to London, wanted me to show her where I come from, wanted to be a part of it, to learn about me and my life. She's pushed me to do things I would've never done a year ago, she's gotten herself a one-way ticket entry into my heart and trust, and just in that one brought up memory in front of my mother, that way she looks at me, I know with full certainty, that it means so much more than anyone could ever possibly understand.
It's funny.
You could be with someone, fall asleep beside them, know their littlest quirks and likings, give them your all, spend every waking moment with them, but there's always that tiny voice in the back of your head telling you it won't last forever.
Telling you that she will leave, that something's gonna give, that your life was meant to be what it was when you were younger, that all the things you get will be taken from you, that you only live to please others and not yourself.
That small voice.
Small, yes. But far powerful.
And all it takes to keep it small, to keep it quiet and tell it to piss off, is for that person you hold so near and dear, that person you fear turning and walking away, to remind you of their love, remind you that they are here, that they feel the way you do, that they cherish your bond and experiences together and crave to make more.
I hadn't even realised the topic had changed until I snap back into reality, now somehow sitting on the couch, like my mind wandered but my body was on auto-pilot.
"Pardon me for assuming, but you two are..."
"Together," I cut in, reaching for Taylor's hand.
She turns her head to me, eyebrows curled together, but a smile appears. I give her hand a good squeeze of assurance of my wellbeing. Lord knows I've confused the absolute shit out of her since yesterday.
She must think I've gone mad, checking out like I have, going back and forth with my feelings towards my mother.
"I figured as such. You make a lovely couple, you two. And not to worry, won't hear a peep out of me. I could only imagine the type of jabber you hear from the press nowadays. Must be a bloody nuisance."
Taylor chuckles and shrugs, "You said it, not me."
I smile at the blonde, warmed that she's being more open with my mother now, leaving me to wonder what they could've talked about in the moments my mind was elsewhere, but I check back in and blink away the thoughts I can't even begin to sort together in an organised fashion.
What on earth is happening to me right now?
It's like my mind is split between the joy and comfort of Taylor versus the turmoil of my mother's resurgence in my life.
"We actually came home to London to get away from the eyes for a bit. Sort of like an escape of sorts."
Mum nods and blinks at me, tilting her head in the same way I do when I've prepared a question.
"The years have been very kind to you, Wrenley. I've watched your films, as I said yesterday, and I've longed to ask if you've anything prepared for the future?"
God she sounds like an interviewer.
I breathe out a light chuckle, slightly off-tune with the oddity of such a casual conversation with her, but I nod.
"Few things in the works, at a bit of a break right now for the time being. Just shot a film in Atlanta, Georgia, the animation musical Sing is brand new, Pitch Perfect 3 filming later this month after the holidays, and I've got a few series offers in the works. But that's all hush and talk right about now."
Taylor raises a curious brow at me, to which I smirk at, knowing that she's been begging for me to share any updates with her, but not wanting to in worries of jinxing anything. It's been fun though hearing her guesses. She's already known about the Game of Thrones talk, but not to its extent, or of another show in the works, though I'd be coming on for the second season and the first hasn't even been released yet.
"I imagine it takes a toll on your schedule, the lot of it all, yes?"
"It does. Lots of carpet walks, interviews, press tours, filming, brand deals, events, a whole lot of it."
Mum looks at me with wide-eyed surprise. I've a feeling she doesn't even know the half of how busy I always am, the meetings I have to go to, the emails, phone calls, chemistry reads, events, everything. When she looks at Taylor, I can already guess what she's about to ask.
"And you, being arguably the biggest artist out there, how do you two...how could you possibly find the time for a relationship?"
We look at each other and the smile my girlfriend gives me sends butterflies all throughout. Taylor's bright eyed gaze lights me up completely, effortlessly, and I kiss the back of her hand before saying, "You make the time."
"Always," She winks and I look back at Mum whose eyes are on our hands, tears evidently forming in her gaze that sends a pang to my chest.
"Sorry," I mutter, rubbing patterns on the back of Taylor's hand before releasing it.
Mum giggles and wipes at her eyes, shaking her head, "No, do not apologize, darling. I am overjoyed to see that you've found a love like this with the shit you had to deal with. I've never had a love like that before. I'm just...I'm really happy for you is all. Truly."
Taylor POV
Wren started going to see Alice without me once she got comfortable enough. It's been a little amount of a week, but Wren has been overjoyed to have bonded with her mother again. There are still moments of dismay, and she still has the nightmares, whether or not she realizes it, but she still goes.
Last night she came home after I had finished voice recording a song draft, telling me she got to go see her mother's job, meet her friends, and help her tidy up the bookstore.
Today, Wren took Raffie out of school early to spend time with her, and I've decided to make a trip of my own.
My knuckles rap against the door, air locked into my chest until it opens, those eyes that are nearly a carbon copy of my favorite eyes staring up at me.
"Taylor, what a lovely surprise. I thought Wren was in Oxford today?"
I give her a tight-lipped smile and nod, "She is. Was running some errands, grabbed a few extra groceries and thought I'd stop by, see if you'd like any."
Alice's eyes flicker down to the bag in my hand, then out to the car I've parked in the closest open spot to the complex. My heart hammers in my chest, my brain screams at me to stay tough, to not back down, but the fear lingers in my mind, the words Wren has told me so many times.
The memories Wren has told me, the scars all over her body, some from this woman.
"You didn't have to do that," Alice says softly, giving those same kind eyes she's been giving for the past week, those same eyes I want to see the truth beneath.
"It's no trouble."
Alice grins and steps to the side, "Please, come in."
My foot balances over the little slab of metal, the threshold boundary, before I step inside Wren's childhood all alone. I eye the cracks in the walls, the clear plaster slabbed over what looks to be a whole in the wall, right near the fridge, exactly where Wren said Alice's ex boyfriend shoved her head into.
Sweat beads on my forehead, clams up my hands as I look at every memory, placing the sight to the words spoken by the love of my life.
Her mother seems to have turned over a new leaf, but I don't buy it all. Something isn't right here, there's something she isn't sharing, something she's hiding, and I need it far away from my Wren.
"I've got you some oranges. Since Wren likes pulp."
I take the fruit out of the bag and place them in the fruit bowl, tossing a glance over my shoulder at the woman who pauses ever so briefly.
Crack.
"Wren told me after we left that morning, about how she liked pulp but you and your ex husband didn't. She told me of the time she worked tirelessly to remove the pulp since it was all that was left at the shop, praying it'd please you and Jack. She told me how you sat silent while her father belittled her, made her feel worthless and pathetic."
Alice swallows thickly, her fingers delicately brushing over the skin of the orange, no doubt going back to that day. Her body tightens with shame and for a moment, my thoughts stagger, but I breathe in and clear my throat, dragging my fingers along the table, walking around the room until I can get a glimpse of Wren's childhood bedroom.
"Taylor–" "I don't know what kind of game you're playing. You got Wren with giving back the money, I'll give you that one. And I can see where she must get her acting talents from, not that you deserve anything of hers or to be tied to her at all, but you've been putting on one hell of a show, haven't you?"
When I turn, her blue eyes are wide with confusion, then she frowns, shaking her head as if she hasn't an idea of what I mean, "What?"
"Please," I scoff.
The woman shakes her head again and clutches her hands to her chest, "I know it must seem wicked of me. I understand your distrust, truly, I do. And I have the utmost respect for you and the highest of praises for how happy you make my girl–" "She is not your girl. She isn't your anything. You gave that up the day you first struck her. The day you decided she was nothing better than dirt."
Her feet hesitate on the floor, mouth quivering, eyes watering, and for a moment I think I'm being too harsh, but I shake the thought.
I'm doing this for Wren.
Something isn't right here.
I don't trust her.
And she's taking advantage of Wren's emotions, of her confusion and clouded judgment.
It's not right.
I need to protect her and this is how I can do it.
"I love her, I do. I've made my mistakes–" "No." I cut her off abruptly, my voice rough and strong, intimidating, even.
Alice trembles as I take my steps closer, my hands curled into frustrated fists at my sides.
"A mistake is forgetting to turn the stove off before you leave the house, a mistake is texting the wrong person, a mistake is not judging travel time with traffic to get somewhere, what you did was not a mistake, Alice. It was a choice. You tortured your own child, an innocent little girl who wanted nothing more than to please her parents, have a mother who loved her and cherished her. You used her as a pawn, made her your slave, abused her, made her handle your disgusting drug deals, got her shot, and traumatized her for years. An innocent girl. That isn't a mistake, Alice. That's who you are at your core: a horrible, abusive, psychotic person who does not deserve to call herself a mother. And a person who most definitely doesn't deserve redemption."
I'm towering over her, my eyes blown wide, tears streaming down my cheeks as my mind replays every single night of Wren screaming in her sleep, of the first time she showed me her scars, the tears she wept sharing me even the smallest of memories, the way she freaks out if a room isn't perfectly clean, fearing she'll get in trouble, the reason she has all these little compulsive needs, because of her.
I don't care how scared she looks, I don't care if she really is trying, she hurt the person that both stops and turns my whole world, she hurt the most important thing in the world to me.
So if she is serious about this change, she has to get through me first. And I'm not about to make it easy.
"I know that...I know...but I just...I want to try."
"Wren may be giving in, but it's because you're feeding on her confusion. You know that her seeing you like this would confuse her, would have her emotions on overdrive, you knew that. And it's working in your favor. So if you are serious about this, if you really have changed like you claim to have, then you better do a damn good job at proving it and convincing me."
She looks so small, so threatened, so fearful, but she's not angry, she's not fighting me.
Good choice.
I glare down at her and take a deep breath, trying to ease myself, but needing to say my last piece. Tilting my head as I shift my jaw, sniffling and blinking away the tears.
"But so help me God, Alice, if this is all some sort of facade, if you are hiding anything or playing some sort of game just to screw over the love of my life again...then you better stay the fuck away from her."
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A/N: Welp...stan Taylor.
What do you think will happen?
What do you want to happen?