Velli

The weight of failure’s likelihood presses on me as I wait outside Dream’s house. Tonight, I need to make Wulf serve me. I can only avoid the Old Soul for so long. Maybe he could stop her. Regardless, even after capturing Wulf, I’ll have two days left.

I text Dream in advance that I’m outside her house, and she yells that the door’s open—learning nothing from our meeting with Anne Graves, apparently. I walk in and notice she’s cleaned the house well enough. It’s like Anne was never here.

Dream and I exchange a quick and awkward greeting. She hands me the letter she received from Lue, Wulf’s wife, who needs our help, and she scurries away.

Hello, Dream,

I’m sorry to have to deliver a message like this. I’m sorry I tried to make you hate yourself. I’m sorry I tried to break you. I have a lot to be sorry for. I messed up, Dream. I married the wrong guy. And now, I can’t leave.

If you haven’t forgotten about me already, you would know I married Wulf. Fun fact about him—beating me makes him stronger. According to him, every time he beats someone he loves, he gets to keep his powers for another twenty-four hours. He calls his power Bloody Hands, but how can he say he loves me and *lots of random unintelligible scratches* it doesn’t matter. He says if he skips one day, it all comes crumbling down. His entire empire. I don’t care. It hurts so much. I know I’ll be here forever. I’m not asking you to rescue me, Dream. No one can, most certainly not you. I don’t even think Rose herself could beat Wulf. I’m asking you to tell everyone something vile, something Ito. I’m talking vomit-inducing, perverted, abominable. Something to make them hate me. You can do it. I know you can because you probably still hate me, as you should.

I treated you badly because I could. I was so confident in my powers, but look at me now. Mine are nothing compared to Wulf’s. I’m stuck here, and unfortunately, people still love me… My parents, my girls, my ghosts from high school. I’m sure you remember them. It’s my fault too. Before the *scratched out* Bloody Hands, when we were dating, I cut off everybody. I did everything to get them to leave me alone. I was rude, absent, and unbearably mean. They were a distraction from him, and I was on top of the world. I wish he would push me off it.

Now, he makes me send out a duplicate text with the same attitude and monitors every call, ensuring I never break character. And they won’t stop. They keep texting and calling, and I keep hurting them. Those idiots won’t let me fade away. They love me.

Let me fade away, Dream. Pick something, anything. I won’t deny it. I’ll go with it. Make everyone hate me. Yeah, we might still laugh at you, but no one in the world thinks you’re a liar. Everyone’s off and married to gorgeous heroes and clique leaders. Mary actually has a five-man harem. Each of the men controls an element. She picked them out that way on purpose. We’ve seen you with the skinny, shy kid with the curly hair. You deserve a win. Get a win on an old bully.

C’mon, Dream. Get a win on somebody. Make everyone hate me so they can leave me alone and I can die in peace. Yes, it’s selfish, but it’s a reward, Dream. You can get revenge. Make the world hate me as much as you do. And you do still hate me. I know you do because, even when my kidney burns from Wulf’s “love” and my lips split open, if I need something to make me laugh, I think about how we treated you. And I laugh with a purple-bruised throat and a little blood dripping from my mouth.

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The letter confuses me. I wave it in front of me, trying to process everything. Dream’s gone. She mumbles, barely audible, in the kitchen. I don’t call her name. The intensity in the air demands silence. I creep forward and push open the kitchen door as quietly as a thief. Dream is red in the face, her cheeks swollen, as she bawls. Tears stream down to her neck and mix with the snot coming from her nose. She slams her fist into her thigh with all her might. Like she’s done something wrong, like she’s the one who should be punished.

“It always has to be me,” she mumbles. “I always have to be the one to help. And she’s right. Stupid Dream. Stupid Dream. Stupid Dream.”

All at once, three feelings constrict my throat, dry my mouth, and journey down to wrap around my heart—helplessness, pity, and a sort of perversion. I’m seeing something I’m not meant to see. My breath comes slower. I want to tell her to stop, but to speak is to acknowledge it. It’s so much emotion. So raw. All that sweet girl has been holding back boils and bursts. The scalding emotion burns her. It’s so unfair. She didn’t do anything wrong. Every hit she delivers disagrees, though, in painful reinforcement of her own belief.

I close the door as silently as I came in and sit on the couch in Dream’s living room. Is it worth it? Is pushing all that pain down worth it? Dream’s problem is twofold. She does have a genuine heart to help, and not rescuing Lue from her situation would hurt her. Second, she is a part of the Rainbringer sect of her religion, like the pastor at the funeral. If she ever wants to get powers, she thinks she must always do the ultimate good, even when it hurts. Is it worth it? What else is Dream forcing down? Will it even work? Will Dream one day be like Heavy and be granted power for being good? I doubt it.

It takes about five minutes before the microwave beeps in the kitchen, and Dream comes out with a smile and a fresh bowl of popcorn. “Sorry it took so long. Made you popcorn, though!”

“Dream…”

“Hmm…?” She doesn’t look at me but past me.

“What did Lue do to you?”

“Nothing, just some jokes in school. Everyone got bullied a bit. I’m sure other people had it worse, like you were Unchosen. I’m sure people were nastier to you.”

“Maybe… but that doesn’t mean what happened to you doesn’t matter.”

“I’m fine.” She holds the popcorn out to me.

“I thought we agreed not to lie to one another.”

Dream’s taken aback—like my claim that she’s not fine is bizarre. Her smile returns. “I’m not lying. I’m smiling, aren’t I? That means I’m fine.”

That’s never been true, but I let it go with a shrug I don’t mean. A plot forms in my head to make Dream’s night. She carries a lot of shame, though. Her shoulders are heavy, and she still looks past me, not at me. My guess is she’s afraid to look at me because she thinks I’ll see her differently.

“Um-hmm, you still want to rescue her?” I ask. “We don’t have to, y’know.”

Dream examines her carpet instead of my eyes. “We should, though.” She fakes a smile behind teary eyes. “We should.”

Dumber than you.

No, she’s better than me.

I won’t argue with her today.

“What does, uh, some of the slang mean?” she asks.

“Ito is horrible, ultraviolence, horror show, nightmare fuel. It comes from some Pre-Rain artist, yeah… and ghost, you know ghost. We talked about it earlier. Cliques use it, but in high school, best friends use it to describe each other by calling each other ghost. Everyone had ghosts in high school.”

“Yep, everyone had ghosts,” she says, in a staring battle with the floor.

I recall how she didn’t know the word “ghost,” and parts of Dream’s life start making sense. I don’t think she had friends in high school. I don’t think she had friends before the Happy Doomed.

“I think you’re brilliant, by the way,” I tell her. “I always have.”

Dream smiles with her whole face, and her hazel eyes finally meet mine.

We prepare for the night’s battle.