Chapter 30 #2
She hums quietly, stroking the hair on the back of my head. “And I guess I’m a weirdo. And if things were different, I wouldn’t be yours already.” My eyes dart right back to hers. Did she really say that? “I am yours, Cain. You didn’t want me to change to love me. You just did.”
“I just did,” I repeat, my heart pounding in my chest. She nods with a smile. That smile makes me incapable of tearing my eyes away. That smile can dissolve every unhinged thought in my mind.
And she’s here, despite everything I’ve done to her. She knows what I am. She can see the sickness under my skin, the things I can’t scrub clean, and still, she’s here. Actually here.
I know what I did can never be forgiven. Dragging her into my madness, chaining her to a life she never asked for, staining her soul just by getting a glimpse of mine.
But lately, she doesn’t fight like she used to. She’s changing.
I don’t see hatred burning in her eyes anymore. At least not fully.
Maybe she’s just learning to live with the darkness.
Perhaps she’s learning to live with me.
And fuck, she doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me.
She’s making me feel again. Making me weak in ways I never thought I’d allow.
And the worst part is that I don’t even care anymore.
I crave it. I crave her.
She’s the only one who silences the demons in my head. The only thing I can touch and know it’s not a lie.
I was drowning before her. I’m still drowning, but now I can see the surface; I can see the light.
Her eyes drop to the cube in my hands.
“You never told me her name.”
An unintended smile appears on my lips. This is the first time someone has asked about her. Besides, I have forbidden everyone to speak her name.
“It’s Alice. Alice Manson.”
“You took her last name?”
“Of course I did.”
“Alice Manson,” she repeats, savoring the sound of it. “It sounds really badass.”
Somehow, I don’t mind when she says it. She can’t taint it; she’s too pure for that.
“She must have been pretty, right?” she asks again.
I think for a moment. “To me, she was. Dark blonde hair, medium length, and the grayest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
“So, you got her hair color and the gray heterochromia in your eye,” she says, bright and certain.
Something so simple. It’s so obvious, and yet it hits me like a punch.
I never wondered where my eyes came from—never thought to. I always figured it was just nature. Random.
Not a memory written into my skin, like a piece of her stitched into me.
“You’re right,” I breathe quietly. I look away, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I remember she used to push my hair back and tell me I had her stormy eyes. She said it made me look like trouble.”
“If she only knew.” She chuckles.
“Yeah.”
“She had a soft spot for you, didn’t she?”
“Me and Adam. But I think she loved me a bit more.”
“Who’s Adam?” she asks, her voice becoming gruff, yet I still see excitement in her eyes.
Fuck … my tongue slips.
“No one important.”
“But—”
“No,” I say solemnly, cutting her off.
She nods as if she understands my limits. Good girl.
“Do you visit her? Her grave, I mean.”
“There’s nothing there for me. It’s just dirt and stones.”
“It’s not about what’s there.”
“Don’t!” I snap. “I know what it’s about, and it doesn’t change anything.”
Her light blue eyes cloud, and they drop to the black duvet. What is she thinking?
“At least you have good things to remember her for,” she mutters.
“My parents never made me laugh. They never made me smile. I was just there—a weight they carried. I wasn’t someone they loved.
I wasn’t someone they even wanted. I was an embarrassment they couldn’t quite hide, no matter how hard they tried. ”
Her eyes tear up as the memories of these bastards flood her mind. However, I don’t talk. I let her relive every bitter memory until she realizes that she’s stronger than that.
“I don’t remember the first time I realized they didn’t love me. I think I always knew. They never looked at me the way parents are supposed to. Never with pride or tenderness.” The tears run down her cheeks. “You said it. We’re both the unwanted child.”
“That’s true.”
Her head jerks spasmodically as her face turns red, the pain in her soul taking over.
“You know, sometimes I’d hear them late at night when they thought I was asleep.
Whispered fights between them. “‘You should’ve gotten rid of it.’ ‘It wasn’t my choice.
’” She mimics their conversation. “It! Not even her!” she snaps, her voice becoming louder.
“They never saw me. Not when I cried so hard my throat gave out. Not even when I got sick and laid in bed, burning up, waiting for someone to notice. No one came! And no one ever answered when I asked why. All I wanted was at least a fucking reason!”
She and I have more in common than I ever realized.
It’s not just the brokenness we carry like old scars. It’s the silence. The patience. The resilience.
She breaks into inconsolable sobs. She’s broken, just like me. Undone.
I pull her into my arms and bury her deep into my embrace, trying to drown my urge to fly to Czechia and choke them with my own hands. Such people don’t deserve to breathe. Those people don’t deserve to be called parents. Not by her. Not by anyone.
She needs to understand that I’ll never leave her. Never turn my back on her. I’ll always be there—in her life, in her dreams, in every trembling breath she takes. She’s mine to protect, mine to own, mine to break—if I must.
Forever.
Then, she raises her reddish, glistening eyes and looks at me. “Your mother was proud of you. It wasn’t your fault that she died.”
My breathing grows more erratic as I hear her say the words. I never realized I was blaming myself for her death. I knew it deep down; I could just never put it into words.
“Pray to her, Cain. Go to her grave,” she whispers, her bright eyes locked onto mine.
I run my fingers over her wet cheek and wipe her tears away. And as her words fade, I finally see that some prayers are just the beginning of the end.