12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Avery
The door swings shut behind Grey and Theo, leaving me alone with Damon.
He looks away, staring at a spot on the wall. His face is completely void of emotion, and if it wasn't for his breathing, I'd almost think he was dead with how still he is.
I remember how insane it felt to find out that his father was walking around the facility, sticking his nose into things. So, I'm surprised that I don't feel anything knowing the truth about Lilydale. Maybe they did manage to break me downstairs.
Or maybe my heart is broken for him.
For the longest time, I convinced myself that I knew who Damon was—he was the demon boy who treated everyone like his servants, forcing me to do things against my will. I hated him, despised the way he looked at me. But the truth is finally out.
He was never my enemy.
It's clear that there's more to the story, but I can't get over the fact that he's here. If his family owns Lilydale, then they are the reason he is locked up. Otherwise, he'd be somewhere else, right?
I always wore my trauma subconsciously on my sleeve—everyone who ever met me could tell I was fucked up. Even when I tried to hide it, I could never stop the feelings and hurt from crashing and pouring out of my soul. They just pretended I didn't exist, too preoccupied to pay me any mind. But the signs were there in every little thing I did.
I never stopped to think that someone like Damon could be hurting too. He seems so put-together, always making me wonder why it felt like he didn't belong here. There were no signs of trauma or abuse, no obvious tragic backstory. Yet, here he was.
"Damon," I say, breaking the silence.
He doesn't respond, but his eyes quickly move to mine. They are still so empty—so controlled.
"You're not your father," I blurt out, unsure what to say or do with this new information. But part of me wants to comfort him. If his relationship with his father is anything like mine was, then he needs to hear it. Too often we are seen as clones of our parental figures, painted as villains if they are bad people. And in here, it's easy to do so because, to society, we are the savages that need to be locked away.
If my time in Lilydale has taught me anything, it's that we're victims. We all have alibis and excuses for what we did to end up here.
His demeanor breaks slightly, eyes narrowing as he looks at me like he's just seeing me for the first time.
"I'm a monster like my father," he answers tonelessly. "Just a different breed."
"I would bet everything that I own that he made you that way."
A dark smile crosses his face, seemingly amused that I'm not denying that he's bad. "Is that so?"
I nod slowly with uncertainty, scared to push him too far. "Not all monsters are born. Some are created—like me."
Damon laughs dryly. "If monsters were the equivalent of animals, you'd be a sheep."
I feel the muscle in my jaw twitch, remembering how he called me a docile sheep when I first arrived. There's a sparkle in his eye that tells me he recalls it too.
"You'd be a donkey because you're an ass."
Standing up, he towers over me, gazing down with a crooked smile. "Careful, Avery," he warns, but there's a playful edge to his tone.
I'm not afraid, putting my hand on my hip as I hold our close proximity.
"You don't scare me anymore," I admit to him. "I've met the real monsters and survived. But also…" I pause, choosing my next words carefully. "I don't think you're a monster at all."
"That's a dangerous mistake to make."
Is it?
My heart beats a little faster. I don't know where I'm going with this conversation or why. Warning alarms ring in my head, telling me to run. It feels wrong.
But right at the same time.
Ultimately, I take a tiny step back, thinking of Grey. He was so angry when I told him about the kiss. Right now, we need to be strong. We can't risk losing sight of things by causing rifts in the group. But despite that, a part of me is still drawn to Damon.
I swallow those feelings, relaxing my posture. "Is there anything else I should know?"
Damon leans back against the table, crossing his arms. "Unfortunately, you found out the hard way about all of this. It's been happening for a while now, but Leah's death was the last time they tried to conduct their research ."
Leah… there's that name again. It stings just as much as before, but I'm also mad at myself for feeling anger and jealousy about a dead girl.
"Did they do the same to her?" I ask quietly.
"Yes. We tried to save her but we were too late. We weren't prepared and neither were they. She got caught up in the ambush, an experiment gone wrong—or so they say."
Leaning on the table next to him, I let out a sigh. "I can see it. I honestly believed I was going to die down there."
Damon turns his head to the side, looking over his shoulder at me. "I was wrong about you. And that worries me."
I crack a smile, eyes focusing on the bookshelves ahead. "Damon worried? Maybe I did die, and hell has frozen over."
"I'm serious, Avery," he replies sternly. "You're handling all of this too well."
Glancing at him, I try to joke to break the tension. "First, you told me to handle and control my emotions. Now, I'm doing it too well?"
"This is different," he answers. "Controlling yourself is one thing but to completely dismiss what you went through is another. You need to take some time to deal with what happened. Otherwise it will eat you alive."
"I'm f—"
"If you tell me you're fine, I'm going to bend you over the table and smack your ass right here."
No sooner have the words left his mouth does he shut his lips tightly, realizing what he's said out loud with an annoyed look on his face. I just laugh softly, shaking my head.
"It's just… what I do," I admit sadly. "Maybe that's why I was so bad at it, because I kept everything in. I didn't have a choice."
"You have a choice now."
"I know," I murmur. "But I'm scared to admit what happened in case I lose it completely. What if holding myself together is the only choice we have? I can't fall to pieces right now—we can't be weak when Whittingham and the guards are lurking around. It's not just my life on the line here, it's everyone's."
Damon just stares at me in silence, making me question if I've said the wrong thing. I thought for sure it would be what he wanted to hear. After all, he's the prime example of not showing emotion.
"Avery," he says finally. "You're not weak. It's okay to fall apart if you need it. Just as long as you can put the pieces back together. Grey and Ashwood will help with that."
"Will you?" I whisper, looking at him.
What a stupid thing to ask, Avery.
Awkward tension fills the space between us, and just as I start to turn my head to look away in embarrassment, a hand snaps up to grab my jaw. Damon forces me to look at him despite the tears starting to well up in my eyes as small cracks emerge beneath my exterior.
"Yes."
I blink once in disbelief, forcing a single tear to slip down my cheek from the movement. He says nothing further, making me wonder if I perhaps misheard him or imagined it. His hand doesn't move from my face, still holding me in place.
Slowly, his thumb slides up my cheek, wiping the tear away.
"What did they do to you?" he asks quietly and I'm taken aback by the small growl that accompanies his words.
I don't know if it's my so-called lack of control, or the fact that it's Damon asking, but my resolve finally snaps, shattering it into a million pieces.
"Everything," I whisper again with a shaky voice. "Forced me to watch videos of Grey fucking someone else while they hooked me up to machines, drugged me, trapped me in ice water, electrocuted me…" I trail off, feeling a lump in my throat grow.
Anger flashes across his face and I'm worried he's about to snap. After a few seconds, he lets go of my face, eyes moving down my body like he's inspecting my physical condition. They pause on my arms, his hand grabbing my wrist and turning it so my forearm is facing upward. Bruises have emerged on my pale skin—large, circular spots making indistinguishable patterns—from the needles.
I let him look, not bothering to shrink away. His fingers gently trace over one of the bruises, then my tattoo-covered scars.
I wish I knew what was going through his mind. I want to know more about how he thinks, how he operates on a humane level. I'm desperate to see if there's another side to him other than the emotionless, cold person he portrays. I bet there is, lurking underneath.
"We'll make them pay," he says finally, resting my arm in my lap and letting me go.
"Why are you here?" I ask suddenly, watching him closely. "In Lilydale. If your family owns it then why are you here?"
The change is sudden, his walls going back up before my eyes. The anger disappears, the tension in his face—replaced by a sly smile.
"You're a curious little lamb," he taunts. "Always asking questions."
I ignore the animal comment, hugging my torso. "You don't have to answer."
Damon reaches over, pushing a piece of fallen hair behind my ear. It doesn't do much good since my black hair is badly knotted from being in hell. "It was just another way of my father controlling me. He wanted me locked up—out of fear for himself."
"Why?" I press, shivering slightly as his fingers graze the edge of my face. "What was he afraid of?"
"He knew I was going to kill him. But more importantly, it meant he could take over control of my wealth."
"Your money?" I ask, frowning. "He seems pretty rich on his own to me."
He smirks at the comment. "The rich stay rich by stealing and conniving, Avery. I would have ruined his empire and reputation—and he couldn't have that."
"I don't understand," I mumble. "How is it legal to forcefully lock up your child?"
"Money can buy anything," he answers simply. "He paid someone to misdiagnose me, to back up his claim that I was unfit and a danger to society. Then he used the money to create Lilydale as a way to make sure I'd never get out. He controls my incarceration here—he couldn't risk that power being in the hands of a federal prison or psychiatric facility because he knew I'd eventually be released once they realized. This way, he's out of my reach, in full control of all finances while holding me hostage."
My eyebrows pull together. "And the medical research?"
"A way to sustain my sentence here. The facility is costly to run and despite his best attempts to steal from me, he has to be careful of how he disposes of my trust fund unless he wants the IRS and FBI on his doorstep. By joining forces with the government, he's protected and hidden in plain sight. It's the perfect cover up for his plan—he keeps it all above board, working with the legal system so no one suspects anything. To them, he's a selfless person, giving back to society—taking pressure off their facilities for a good cause. And best of all, he gets to control me. Well, he thinks he does anyway."
His eyes dance dangerously, confirming what we already know—No one can control Damon, even from the inside of his own personal created hell.
"And Whittingham?"
"His old buddy from college."
I slump forward, shaking my head in disbelief as I let out a shaky breath. "That's fucked up."
"Yes, it is. That's why Cirque des Morts exists. It's a fuck you to my father, stopping the facility from running things smoothly. If the money runs out then the board will be forced to close Lilydale down unless they choose to fund it themselves. They don't want to do that—no one wants to give away their money for nothing in return. They are greedy pigs. But besides that, the people in here shouldn't be punished for my mistakes by being subjected to their experiments ."
"Your mistakes?" I ask wearily. "How on earth could it possibly be your mistake? You didn't ask for this."
Damon smiles, sadistically. "My mistake was leaving that bastard alive after he killed my mother. And I never make the same mistake twice—I always follow through on my promises."