CHAPTER 13 – Regina – Enjoyed
It was Saturday morning, and Emma, Henry and the Charmings were at the mansion – I still wasn't comfortable with the thought of it being my house, so I avoided the term as much as I could – browsing through old books and scrolls, looking for a way to get my memories back.
"Nothing," David snorted, tossing the umpteenth tome to the side and grabbing a new one from the pile we had clustered on the coffee table.
"Maybe asking grandpa is the only solution," Henry said, shutting the book he was reading and moving onto the next one. It took me a second to realize he was talking about that dodgy man – Gold, was it?
"He threatened us," Emma reminded him from her seat on the carpet right in front of the couch. "Besides, ever since your father passed away, we haven't been in exactly friendly terms with Gold…"
The room fell silent once again, everyone turning their attention back to researching. I felt slightly guilty for taking them through that much trouble, but I also had a feeling that that was a fairly normal situation for them – for us: leafing through an infinity of books, silently nostalgic of the convenience and rapidity of the internet and on the verge of tears due to the frustration of not finding anything useful.
"Listen, let's just go grab some lunch," Emma said after a while, getting up from her position and stretching with a way-too-distracting moan, "we could use a break."
"I'll cook," I intervened before any of them could suggest the greasy and unhealthy food of the diner, "I need to relax and that's the best way for me to do that."
I quickly put together a pasta dish while everyone else set the table. It was nice, very domestic; as if I was cooking for my family. It felt whimsical to realize that I actually was.
"Regina, this is unbelievable," David muttered in awe, his mouth still full of spaghetti. The resemblance with Emma was almost ludicrous. Everyone else mumbled their agreement, and we went on making small talk until our plates were all empty and our bellies all full.
I insisted on doing the washing up by myself, reluctant to bother them any further, but I couldn't manage to dissuade Emma, ever the hardheaded one. She joined me while the others went back to the lounge, her hands already reaching for the cloth hung on the oven door, ready to dry.
We laughed and joked for a while, talking about nothing and everything, as if hanging out was the most natural thing in the world. Once again, guilt menaced to fill my mind, telling me that it was purely my fault that I didn't remember her; I quickly shooed the thought away, focusing on what she was saying instead.
"… And so I went to his room, hid the candies under his bed and ratted him out to our foster parents at the time," she was saying. "He got in trouble and never tried to mess with me again."
"Did that happen frequently?" I asked. "Did the kids you ended up living with make fun of you and play pranks?"
"Oh, yeah, all the time," she replied lightly. "They'd fill my lunchbox with worms, cut my hair while I was asleep, tell me no one was ever going to adopt me… stuff like that."
She shrugged as she completed her story, but I couldn't be more dumbfounded by her words. Guilt and fury fought inside my head as I felt them flow through my veins, so intense that I was almost shaking.
I knew that, if anyone were to be blamed for Emma's messed up childhood, I would be the first person on the list: I had cast the curse that had forced her parents to abandon her. It was my fault, and I was never going to forgive myself for that. Somehow, I knew I had always felt this way: this guilt wasn't new, it had been lingering in my guts for a long time, born long before I began my life in New York. It didn't make it easier to face, unfortunately.
The anger, however, was ever-so-different: it was partially aimed towards myself, but the most furious and fuming facet of it was completely steered towards those kids who made her childhood even more of a living hell. How could they be so thoughtless? How could they think any of the things they did to Emma was even remotely acceptable? But the worst part was that Emma was shrugging it off as if she was used to it, as if it was normal. Knowing her, she probably even thought she had deserved being bullied.
It was probably that last thought that made me snap; next thing I knew, the stove and the oven had turned on, the decorative candles on the counter had lit up and the soapy sponge I was holding had caught fire.
"Woah, hey, no need to go all Human Torch now," she said, quickly filling a glass with water and pouring it onto the sponge, then hurrying to blow the candles out and turn the appliances off. "It's my past, and there's nothing any of us can do about it. I've never blamed you for it, and I've learned to be glad for living that life. As much as I hated it at the time, it has made me become the person I am now. If my parents hadn't sent me here – if you hadn't cast that spell – I wouldn't have gotten pregnant, and none of us would have met Henry."
I let her words sink in, progressively relaxing as I took my time to cool off. She may not blame me, but I sure did – and I was always going to, no matter what she said.
Seeing that I still didn't look fine, she gave me a little nudge and suggested, "Why don't we go out tonight? I'll buy you a drink, it'll help you unwind. Nine o' clock. What do you say?"
Her offer left me slightly bemused. Anger and guilt forgotten, my mind was filled with another issue: I was most definitely exaggerating, I was reading too much between the lines, but… was she… asking me out? On a date?
A flock of butterflies took life in my stomach at the thought. I was so distracted by the idea of going on a date with Emma that I didn't even realize that butterflies don't fly in flocks.
I was definitely overthinking this… she probably just wanted to help me get my mind off of my problems, and I should've been appreciating her effort instead of feeling let down by the realization that she didn't like me that way. Sexually, yes – but emotionally? Unquestionably not. How could she? I literally ruined her life. I had caused her more pain than anyone else ever could. Besides, I should have been relieved that she didn't have romantic feelings for me: love is weakness; the only thing it leads to is an infinite amount of excruciating, unforgettable pain.
But then, why are you so disappointed?
I ignored the voice in my head and returned back to reality: I had been pondering for quite a while now, and Emma was starting to look concerned by my silence.
"Sure, why not?" I replied, and after beaming at me she returned to her task, drying the dishes with gusto.
Unfortunately, it seemed that my mind didn't want to collaborate with me: questions and fantasies on what was going to happen later that night kept taking over my thoughts, and it got to a point where I was so upset with my own brain that I started furiously scrubbing one of the plates I was washing, despite the fact that it was already immaculate.
"What did that plate ever do to you?" she teased, gently grabbing it and saving it from my deadly grip. "I'm telling you: just relax."
Yeah, easy for you to say, I thought. You know what your own invite means. I don't.
She looked at me for a second, apparently weighing up something… When she finally dipped her hand in the pool of water that had formed in the sink and proceeded to rub it on my face, causing me to gasp and my mouth to drop open in utter shock.
I looked at Emma with wide eyes for a moment, incredulous to what she had just had the guts to do. She held my gaze, a playful smile across her face that, however, didn't mask her hesitation: she was probably waiting for a reaction from me, unsure whether I was going to play along or get angry.
I decided to keep her on her toes. She wanted to play? Well, then I was going to have some fun too.
Narrowing my eyes at her, I grabbed onto my acting skills and did my best to feign anger.
I straightened my spine and puffed out my chest, as a seemingly effective attempt to appear more intimidating: the smile on her face disappeared almost immediately, her eyes widening in worry.
"Did you just get me wet?" I asked slowly, my voice calm yet menacing. I took a step towards her, enjoying how she instinctively moved backwards.
"Sure hope so," she managed to speak, biting her lip to suppress a grin. She was still scared, but, apparently, that didn't stop her from mocking me about unwanted double-entendres.
I held back my own amusement, continuing to step forward until her back hit the counter.
"I wouldn't take this lightly, if I were you, Miss Swan…" I intentionally went back to formalities, enunciating her name with deliberate slowness, causing her gaze to fall onto my lips. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."
And with that, I pinched her side, finally abandoning my angry mask.
Emma squealed in response, immediately jerking away from my hand, but I didn't let her escape: I repeated that torture a few times, enjoying her cackle and her pleas for mercy, accompanied by her struggles to avoid my fingers.
I only stopped when Henry and the Charmings peeked into the room, the cause of Emma's hilarity arousing their curiosity and the sight of what was happening even more so.
They gave us a startled look, but decided not to question what was happening, and went back to their tasks without a word.
I looked at Emma, who was now short of breath but beaming. She looked lovely when she smiled, all cheekbones and glowing eyes.
Following my instincts and not my mind, I leaned forwards and gave her a small peck on the lips, simply because I really wanted to. Once again, our magics reacted to each other, and when Emma started to deepen the kiss, her hands on my neck keeping me close, I sighed at the sensation of inebriation that blurred my mind.
A very brief moment of rationality reminded me that there were people in the next room; the door was closed, but I still broke away from the kiss, resting my forehead against hers. My cheeks were on fire, my heart pounding.
"Damn," she whispered, slightly breathless.
"My sentiments exactly."
I stepped away, walking back to the kitchen sink. Once again accompanied by a lighthearted conversation, we finished doing the washing up between chuckles and smiles, as if nothing had happened.
It was Henry's faint voice, coming from the other room, that wiped my serenity away. He had only posed a question and he wasn't addressing me, but it was enough for me to repress everything that I was feeling – everything that Emma, unaware of our son's words, was making me feel.
"They're falling in love, aren't they?"
A/N: Oh, that was a cute one! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as always I want to thank you all for the feedback, it honestly makes my day! I wanted to point out that with this chapter we are officially halfway through the story - the chapters will be a total of 26, although the next 13 will be much more concentrated, and a lot more will happen. Have a great weekend and until next time!