Lavishly numinous

In her dreams, sometimes Rev has a different life. She can't ever tell if it's better than the one she actually has - but really, what wouldn't be? - but they're always nice dreams, filled with peace and love and no bad memories.

Her mother never gave her up in these dreams. Rev's usually younger, running along beaches or through flower filled meadows, playing games with a woman who's face she can't see, but she knows she loves her. There's laughter and it's almost perfect and after she's woken up, Rev knows it's not real, or realistic. But that's what dreams are for.

She never had to be just a pretty face in these dreams. People don't fawn over her because she's beautiful and they would never hurt her to keep her beauty for themselves. They like her for who she is and what she is is funny and smart and kind and everything she's not when she's awake. When she knows it's not real or realistic. But that's what dreams are for.

She never had to go see the bad men in these dreams. There's no pain, no bad memories, no triggers that leave her shaking and crying in bed for hours. Everyone is nice and they ask before they do things and if she says no, they listen and she knows that if they didn't, they wouldn't get away with it to do it to her again.

But Rev always wakes up, knowing it's not real or realistic. Because that's what dreams are for.

It's life that's the nightmare.

Sometimes, Rev dreams about her mother. Not her Mom, the woman who raised her, but her birth mother. She can’t ever remember much about those dreams, except that the woman always seems to be crying and Rev doesn’t know why. Is it because of her? Is it because she had to give Rev up? Or is it because the curse was evident even when she was a baby, her curse of beauty, and her mother knew there was no way she could keep her. Keep her safe.

Sometimes, Rev wonders if it’s not really a dream, but a memory. How old was she when she was adopted? Two? Three? Could she even have memories from being that young? She’s heard people say they remember things from when they were babies, but Rev isn’t sure she believes it. Probably just things they want to remember, heard about from someone else, and created a memory for it.

Sometimes, Rev thinks that’s what she’s done, too. Created a memory of a mother who loved her, but couldn’t keep her because she was too beautiful, too precious, too perfect that her mother knew she had to give Rev up to people who deserved her. A mother who was wrong.

Sometimes, Rev wishes she could go back in time, go back to the very moment her mother made that decision and somehow, convince her that it was going to be all right. She could keep Rev and everything would be okay because they would have each other.

But mostly, she just wants to stop her mother from crying. And that’s why Rev will never find her.

L.A. is full of ghosts. Where else do the rich and famous go when they die? Or those who wanted nothing but to be rich and famous. Their spirits end up in Hollywood, of course.

Rev thinks she can see them, sometimes, drifting in the early morning mists that linger in the canyon before the sun rises to drive them away. Sometimes, if she closes her eyes and listens really, really hard she can hear them - hear them begging for just one more chance to make it big, just one more movie to shoot, just one more red carpet to walk. Just one more.

Maybe it's because she's been close to the edge so many times that she accepts them as easily as she does. Maybe everyone can see them and hear them and they just don't talk about it, because this lifestyle is crazy enough as it is. Or maybe it's just a given that ghosts are hanging around every star lined street, so why make a fuss?

Then again, maybe it is just Rev, and others like her, looking and listening for things that aren't really there. Projecting, as Pop would say; forcing her insecurities to manifest themselves into something inherently more relatable. Of course, Pop talked too much and usually about things she didn't understand.

But maybe he was right. Maybe all she really wants is just one more herself, so she can finally join them.

If I could heal myself
Where would I begin?
I really wish I'd had a shoulder
I'd try and climb from this hole I'm in
This is easy
This is easier

They barely spoke while he drove, Rev gazed out the window and watched the scenery as it speed by, enjoying the feel of the wind as it swept over them. There was no doubt Pop had scouted out the location beforehand and she trusted him enough to not pay attention to where they were going. He’d take care of her; he always did.

Do you think this is Selfish?
Does this make me crazed?
It's just a consequence of the easiest choice that I've made

It was a field or something - Rev supposed it she were the romantic type she’d have called it a meadow – all grass and flowers. She changed right there into the outfit he’d brought for her, still not saying a word except to ask how he wanted the dress to look. At least they were alone this time; she hated when he brought other men along though she never complained. There wasn’t much point.

This is easy
This is easier for me
Than to pretend that this will ever get easier for me

She lay back in the cool grass and let him arrange her as he usually did, so she’d be at her most artistic. Pop did, in fact, care about the photographs he took and these were pictures that kept him in business and kept Rev in her much preferred state of numbness. He fixed her hair around her face and then drew a finger along the inside of one of her arms, searching and finally putting pressure on a spot she knew would soon be replaced by that all to familiar needle-prick. And Rev just smiled.

This will never get easy


Lyrics in italics from Tapping the Vein's Fingertips.

Rev is everything a model should be. She's tall, thin, beautiful and she takes her work seriously, even when she shows up to shoots drunk or high. If it's a runway show, she'll even arrive sober. This is her life, her livelihood and despite her ongoing reckless behaviour, the last thing she wants to do is ruin her career. After all, being pretty is all she knows how to do.

She's almost famous; not a supermodel, but not an unknown, either. The tabloids tend to leave her alone so far and perhaps that's just luck, but it's luck she'll take. They're mostly concerned with sex anyway. Drugs are so last year and commonplace, Rev's habits are practically expected. But she never has boyfriends, never has flings to be reported on. Not with anyone the paparazzi would be interested in, anyway. Maybe in a year or two someone will notice and that's what will be what gets her the unwanted attention but for now, she flies just under the radar.

Relationships aren't something Rev concerns herself with. The closest thing she has to one is whatever she has with Pop and even that's tenuous. Half the time she can't stand him, the other half she can't live without him. It's not love, God forbid, and if someone better showed up who took care of her the way he does - in all aspects - she'd drop him in a heartbeat. Would he care? She doesn't know. Most of the time she doesn't know why he still does what he does for her. She needs so much and gives so little, but she's not going to complain.

Well, only when she's sober.

It was more like a road crash.

Or just a crash.

It had been a pretty good shoot. Pop hadn’t been there, but that was ok. She could work without it, she had before. The assistants on set were more than happy to keep her wineglass full. No one cared that by the end she was so drunk she could barely see. They got the shot – several in fact – and she’d actually been a pleasure to work with. Alcohol always did make her compliant. Not as much as the heroin, but it did the trick. She was happy, the photographer was happy, the client was happy. Everyone was happy.

Who cared if it was fake happy. The appearance was all that mattered, right?

That curve in the road was a bitch even in daylight. Drunk and in the dead of night, Rev and her pretty, vintage Thunderbird didn’t stand a chance. She plowed right through the guard rail, barely taking her foot off the gas. Trees make effective breaks, she found.

She walked away from it. She didn’t know how or why, but she did. Bruised and bloodied, she staggered the rest of the way home to sleep and called the police in the morning. When she was sober.

The car was totalled.

Her Daddy bought her a new one a week later.


Muse: Rev
Fandom: The Rose and the Beast
Words: 223