––– @cabotiisms / alex gets baby waverly.
nightmares jolt her awake, as they have so many nights. tiny fingers clutch the worn out rabbit she’s had since birth, the last remnant of her life until months before. body shakes, completely out of breath. big brown eyes open up to the popcorn ceiling of her new catalogue bedroom, so different from the peeling walls of the homestead. waverly used to wish for a room like this ; one she could call her own. she’d take it back now, if she could. she’d take back a lot of things.
knees pull up to her chest, clutching her toy even tighter. the little girl struggles to catch her breath, fighting back tears. chapped lips pull between teeth. no crying, earp. she’s tired of crying. mama used to bring her warm milk when she was scared. sometimes wynonna did that, too, just to get her back in her own bed. so she tiptoes down the hall ( she’ll take care of herself now, thanks ) and into the kitchen. the only problem is that she’s short and the microwave is up high, and climbing in the dark isn’t really her strong suit. there’s a loud crash as the glass hits the floor and shatters beneath her. waverly gasps. fudgesicles ! she jumps back down, only narrowly avoiding a shard with her foot.
“ please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up... ”
mutters echo through the cool kitchen. she’s still on eggshells around emily, trying to do everything right. trying to make her like her. this place isn’t home, but it’s all she has, and she knows all too well that telling too much truth will only land her in another home. at least this one is kind of nice. the problem with being a child is that no one believes a word you say, but the problem with been a teenager is exactly the opposite. the same men with who brought her to wisconsin with a million rules to go along with her new name –– riley ; it doesn’t suit her at all –– also sent away her sister for the truth : that nightmares aren’t dreams. they’re memories.
