Chapter 42 Evie
EVIE
I’m not sure how long I stay there with my knees pressing into the marbled floor of the cathedral, but it’s long enough for a puddle of tears and rainwater to form.
My cheeks have dried, but I continue to stare at the reflection beneath me.
The storm must have passed because the light streaming in through the stained-glass windows brightens the cavernous space.
There’s a resounding silence, filled only with the faint trickle of water and the rhythm of my now steady breathing.
Focusing on the light, I drag myself upright.
My legs are sore and stiff, joints aching, but I raise my head and close my eyes, basking in the warmth of the sun’s rays as I process all that’s happened.
Dean Whitehouser may be delusional, but we have the same shades of brown in our eyes and a similar upturn to our noses.
While accepting him as my biological father is difficult, it means I’m nothing like Roy, who isn’t my father but my stepfather.
More importantly, I share nothing—absolutely fucking nothing—with Jonathan.
The tormentor of my childhood. The nightmare parading as a righteous protector and the evil lurking beneath the facade of a golden halo. Not one drop of my blood is related to him.
A sharp buzzing cuts through the torrent of my thoughts. I blink and pull my phone from my pocket. I’m surprised to find it still working despite the cold, wet fabric clinging to my thighs. But then my mother’s face flashes across the screen.
I groan, silencing the call. It rings again.
I should turn it off or reject the call. Block her number. Do anything but answer it, but anger has a grip on me now. A part of me wants to hear her apologize, to understand her reasoning for being such a horrible person. So, I grit my teeth and answer.
She isn’t even looking at the screen. She’s seated at what appears to be the dean’s desk, fixing her makeup in a compact off to the side as she starts speaking.
“Jonathan and your father are already livid about your lack of commitment to this family. I’ve arranged for lunch this weekend and taken the liberty of inviting Jonathan’s friend, Jameson.”
Disbelief ripples through me at her nonchalance, as if the last hour never happened. As if I’m supposed to just forget she’s a hypocritical liar and my entire life has been a lie.
“Jonathan seems to think Jameson will still consider marrying you. If you repent for your wayward ways and return to the church.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
Her eyes finally lift, locking with mine through the screen. There’s so much rage. And all of it is directed at me.
The crescendo of my heart picks up, cold fear sliding down my spine.
My mother has never been particularly loving, but I’d always thought of her as a buffer of sorts between Jonathan and my father—Roy.
Not quite a wall, because god knows she’s let plenty of things through, but a small form of defense nonetheless.
But now… now I realize how wrong I’ve been.
“It’s all been for you,” I say, hating the prick of tears that comes with my dawning clarity.
“You didn’t want me to speak out because it would reflect poorly on you.
Even college. When I thought you’d finally done something selfless, risked father—Roy’s anger and Jonathan’s irritation…
I thought it was to support me. But it wasn’t, was it? ”
She lifts her chin, every trace of tenderness vanishing as I press on.
“You paid for school so you could fuck the dean whenever you wanted. And if your husband ever questioned where you were, you could blame me.”
“Watch your mouth when you speak to me. I am your mother.”
My voice cracks around a harsh laugh.
“Stop crying,” she snaps, looking down her nose at me.
“It’s unbecoming and makes your face look splotchy.
And I can’t believe you’re wearing jeans.
Honestly, Evie. If you don’t at least try to maintain a shred of decency, even our family name won’t be enough to get you a husband.
Is that what you want? To end up ugly and alone? ”
A tear drops onto my screen, but my voice is surprisingly steady when I speak. “I won’t marry him.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’ll marry whoever will have you. Whoever your brother deems appropriate.”
“He’s not my brother,” I retort, leaning into the fury rising inside me. “All this time I’ve been told I’m broken. That I need to beg for forgiveness. As if what he did to me was my fault.”
“It was,” she spits, nostrils flaring. “It is. You’re constantly tempting them. Flaunting your body in front of your father and brother when I’m not there.”
“You’re delusional,” I breathe, shaking my head.
“Lie all you like,” she sneers. “But I know a whore when I see one.”
I hate that I flinch. Hate that she sees it. That she finds satisfaction in the way I hurt. My stomach knots as a smug grin curls across her face. And it’s in that moment I realize how much I’m willing to give up to never see her again.
It’s not a choice, really. More a truth that settles into my bones with terrifying clarity. To them, I’ll only ever be a piece on a game board. A pawn they can use and discard.
“Goodbye, Mother.”
I end the call.
With mechanical precision, I pull up her contact and block the number before she can call back. Then I do the same to the people I once called “brother” and “father.”
When it’s done, I collapse into the nearest pew, tilt my head toward the marble figure above the alter, and allow myself to purge all the pent up emotions I’ve held onto.
The rain is back, battering against the ancient stone outside these walls. Clouds hang heavy beyond the stained glass, and for a moment, I let myself pretend I’m in another place.
I imagine a distant bell tolling, picturing Spain, like I’m in one of Hemingway’s novels.
If only time could reverse and transport me there.
I’d be dropped into the middle of a world where lives are claimed and souls are reaped, but I would have a family who loves me.
When the great bell sounds from the Spanish church, signaling the end of a life—a returning of a soul to the great void—I would know that I’m connected to that life.
To the afterlife and the millions of souls surrounding me.
That’s what religion is supposed to feel like, I think.
It’s a deep-rooted instinct of knowing I’m not alone. That there’s a cosmic power, a lifeline connecting us all. Electric. Awakening. And I’ve never felt more alive, more at peace with myself and the world around me than when I’m with…
“Silas.”
His name is a whispered prayer. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I reach for my phone, needing to hear the sound of his voice in my ear, missing the feel of his breath on my skin.
I hit call, and something in my chest loosens the moment the line begins to ring.
“Your mother was right, you know.”
A deep voice sounds from behind me, slicing through the quiet and nearly making me drop my phone. I jump, starting to turn toward the sound—but he’s already there.
Arms cage me from behind, locking me in place as a bitter, chemical-soaked cloth presses against my face. The sharp, acrid scent burns my eyes. My head begins to swim, but I fight it, clawing at his arm and clutching my phone with every ounce of strength I have.
The third ring cuts off.
Then connects.
“Hey, baby. Out of class early?”
Silas’s voice—familiar and grounding—breaks through just as I try to scream. My lips move. My throat strains. But my muscles are failing, sluggish and numb despite the frantic beating of my heart.
“Evie?”
Black spots bloom at the edge of my vision, and my knees give out. The phone slips from my fingers, clattering to the ground as more of the poison seeps into my lungs. I can just make out Silas’s threats, muffled and distant, as reality slips further and further away.
“You’ve been acting like a whore for far too long, Evie. It’s time to repent.”