"You're so cute," he leaves a soft kiss on my shoulder, "and beautiful," he buries his nose in my hair, planting another kiss against my neck, "and incredibly smart," he smiles against my skin, moving slightly to tilt my head, "and finally mine."
A...
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A R I A
Wait, why was Lydia crying?
Paul turns to Miles. "Miles, if you don't mind . . ."
He seems dazed for a second before realizing what Paul means. "Oh! Yeah, sure. Um, bye guys."
He leaves the house awkwardly, and I feel a little bad for him. Mainly for myself, because I just lost my temporary maid.
He was supposed to do my chores!
Another time. He isn't off the hook, just yet.
Paul turned back to me while Lydia wipes her tears away, sitting on the bed with her hands shaking.
"Aria, talk to us." My uncle pleads, his eyes are full of concern.
I shake my head, wondering what he's talking about. "About what?"
Lydia stands up and holds my hands in her own, cradling them gently. "We knew you had nightmares, but daydreams? How could it have gotten that bad?"
Suddenly, it all comes back to me. My parents' bodies in my room, the pools of blood, Mom looking into my eyes, her smile telling me how relieved she was when she saw me. Dad, lying on the floor where Mom just was, telling me they loved me.
"I'm so sorry, Aunt Lydia. I-I didn't—"
She cut me off. "You have to start therapy again, Aria."
My eyes widen and I stare at her in shock. "What? But—"
"No. I've had enough, Aria. It's getting from bad to worse, and I can't stand seeing you like this."
"Lydia, you know therapy doesn't help me! I hate it, it gives me more nightmares than I already have!" I yell, pulling at my hair and sinking down onto the floor.
Paul crouches and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Aria, please. Give it one more shot, for the sake of us all."
I shake my head frantically, tears stinging my eyes. "Just leave, please."
"Aria-"
"No. P-Please, I need some time to t-think," I beg, my voice cracking.
And with that, they leave the room and shut the door, while I grab Stitch and curl up into a ball, letting it all out.
I cry for Mom, remembering the expression on her face when it actually happened, and I realize that the vision helped me remember. She was relieved. She was alive, for those last few seconds. I never realized it, she looked so dead, yet even though I checked her pulse and felt nothing, she looked right into my eyes with a look of terror and relief. What was she relieved about? Maybe it was when she saw me, alive and unharmed, she was overjoyed that at least her child would survive.
