17 Made Mistakes

⋆37༄ Reyman

Welcome back! I can't believe I'm updating once again this week! I hope you're happy about it! Please, don't forget to vote if you like this story. It repays for my hard work. Thank you xx

__________

In and out. In and out. My rapid breaths are the only sounds that can be heard in the living room, which got shrouded in a deafening silence the moment I said Lydia's name aloud.

I peer to the side, unable to bear the quietude. The summer outside the windows didn't show up this evening, as if it knew that there was a massive catastrophe about to happen in our house. Instead, the clouds grew heavy and dark blue, which made them look like cotton balls dipped in ink, then the sky ripped open and the rain hammered down on the dry asphalt, now slick with water.

I turn my head back to my mother. If she remains silent for one more second–

"Davina–"

"No!" I can't help but raise my voice. My hands are still balled into fists. "Tell me. Tell me now, and it better be the truth."

My mother stares at me, and her eyes no longer convey the shock. Now they're warm and somewhat sad. "I think you should sit down for this . . ."

"I don't want to sit down!" I object, even though my legs are shaking from the nerves. "I want you to tell me what happened. Why did you speak to Lydia Reyman? For how long have you been in touch with her? How long have you been lying that–" I tail off, watching her hoist her body off the settee.

She stands in front of me and gently places her hands on my arms, stroking them comfortingly. The words finally roll of her tongue. "Will . . ." she hesitates.

"Just tell me," I almost growl.

My mother takes a deep breath. "His father . . . He died when we were in Austin."

And just like that, the world around me shrinks. It feels like the lights have been switched off and I'm standing in the last available spotlight. I can't believe this. I can't believe that no one told me. Mr. Reyman is dead. Lydia's husband is dead. Will doesn't have a father. Of course he would withdraw into himself because of that. Now it makes so much sense.

My knees grow weak. I feel like I'm going to pass out. "And you knew?" I ask her, and can't fight the tears that brim at the rims of my eyes. "This whole time you knew?" I question again, as if the repetition could change the truth.

"Yes, Davina, but Lydia asked me–"

"The flowers," I whisper under my breath, recollecting all the times she refused to explain their appearance. "They weren't for your friends. You bought them. You took them to his grave," I mutter, still in disbelief. "Was the one on Beverly's birthday also from you?"

"Whose birthday?" She stares at me, confused.

So it was Will. He didn't forget.

I shake my mothers hands off my arms. "He's dead. Will's father is dead, and you didn't tell me!? Does dad know? Was he also lying? Who lies about such a thing anyway!?" My voice lifts once more.

"No, your dad doesn't know, but Davina, you don't under–"

"He died!" I shriek, watching her flinch. "Will's father died and you kept it a secret! How messed up are you!? All this time I've been wondering what the hell have I done wrong! I've been pitying over myself whilst he had no one, NO ONE to console him!"

"He had his mo–"

"You don't know Will! You don't know him like I do! I was supposed to be there for him! I should have been here, back in London, the moment it happened! How could you lie to me!!?" My last words sound demonic. They sound like a sinister growl.