9. A Painful Truth
9
A Painful Truth
Lilith
It doesn’t take long for the room to empty, and I linger there, looking over the walls that are jam-packed with pictures of our people.
Beginning on the far side of the room, I slowly loop my way around, chuckling as I realize the pictures have been placed in date order, oldest to most recent. Upon realizing this, I quickly go back to the beginning, taking a closer look at the faces there. Then I laugh because I’m almost certain that quite a few of these images were candid in the sense that they likely came from a surveillance camera. Or a hired one.
Agatha appears at my side and asks, “What’s so funny?”
I lift my chin toward the wall as I respond, “Pretty sure that picture of Antoinette didn’t come from some random vacation.”
She leans in closer, squinting at the image before smiling and nodding. “That seems like an educated guess. And it looks to be a few years old, so it’s probably from Darius’s old collection.”
We walk along the wall, intentionally pointing out all the ones resulting from nefarious activities. We’re all there, and we both have a laugh as we come across picture after picture of ourselves in various states of criminal and not-so-criminal activity.
The moment where Antoinette and Darius fell off the radar is evident, but the pictures continue, a testament to our refusal to quit living our lives even though part of it has been ripped to shreds.
I stop at an image of Declan and Issa back when he was doing his farewell concert. At one point in his final song, he had grabbed onto her, yanking her close in a searing kiss, and while their lips are locked together, and they’re obviously in the middle of a passionate embrace, it’s the expression on their faces that is the most enthralling. Rapture and devotion, mind-altering passion and obsession. It’s all evident in that split second.
Agatha hits me with her elbow. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”
I lift my hand, touching my finger to the glass of the image. “What do you think it’s like?”
“What is what like?”
I tap my finger on the glass again. “This. This feeling right here.”
She raises her brows at me and laughs lightly. “You mean love?”
I roll my eyes, wanting a real answer, even though I know she’s mocking me. “Yeah, I guess. What’s it like to be loved like that or to love someone like that?”
Her lips twist, and then she shrugs. “How the fuck would I know?”
I stare at her rather blankly and then laugh because, for a brief moment there, I almost forgot who I was talking to. “Okay, but have you ever wondered?”
“Nope,” she answers as she turns away, walking out of the room. Giving the picture one last fleeting look, I sigh, then follow her, finding her waiting at the beginning of the hallway.
Walking side-by-side toward the stairs to the upper-level bedrooms, she says, “It all seems like a big inconvenience to me.”
“An inconvenience?”
“Yeah, always having to think about someone else. Always worrying about someone else. Knowing you can never fuck anyone else.”
I grab her arm, stopping her in the middle of the hallway, and when she turns to face me, I respond, “But don’t we do that already? The worrying, anyway.”
“Well, sure, but it must be hugely different when you feel like your soul is tethered to another person so finitely.”
She doesn’t wait for me to reply; she just continues down the hallway and up the stairs, stopping on the second level. Heading down the hallway, she stops in front of a door. I look at her and then at the door as I ask, “Is this you?”
Turning my gaze back to her face, she gives me one of her super smug smiles that makes me want to slap her in the face, and I groan, knowing what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth. “Nope.”
I turn to leave, ready to book it down the hallway, but I’m a few seconds too late when she pounds on the door and then takes off at a dead run in the other direction.
I stand there, frozen, like a deer caught in headlights. It only takes me a few seconds to control myself, but no sooner have I turned to escape when the door opens. “Lilith?”
I curse under my breath, slowly turning to face the one person in the entire fucking world I’d rather not speak to. “Antonio.”
He continues to stand there with the door half-open, his eyebrows rising higher and higher until he finally asks, “Did you need something?”
I snort and frown as I practically growl, “Not fucking hardly.”
He leans out into the hallway, looking in both directions before finally looking back at me. “Then why are you knocking on my door?”
I press my lips together, huffing a bit and crossing my arms over my chest as I attempt to come up with a reply that’s not completely insane. Apparently, I wait a moment too long because he steps back into the room, moving to close the door. “I don’t have the energy for you right now.”
“Excuse me,” I scoff, stepping into the doorway and pressing my arm against the door as he attempts to shut it. I give the door a shove, pushing by him and walking into the room as I mutter, “Don’t have the energy for me? I think not.”
The door clicks shut behind me, and I stop in the middle of the room, realizing there’s a hundred percent chance that I’m acting like a crazy person. Not that I’m at all surprised because our entire situation makes me crazy. This guy makes me crazy.
I slowly turn, knowing Antonio is standing there, waiting for me to either say or do something—preferably something not crazy. So, after a long pause, I manage to gather the courage to say, “Since I’m here, we may as well clear the air, as Agatha keeps insisting.”
He groans, his hands rubbing over his face tiredly before grasping the door handle with one hand, turning the knob and opening the door a few inches. Motioning with his free hand toward the door, he responds, “It’s not a good time.”
“It will never be a good time, so now’s as good a time as any.”
He opens the door a bit further, obviously intent on me walking out of it, but I lift my chin stubbornly, deciding now is the time to get this conversation over with, once and for all.
Crossing the distance between us in a few short steps, I force the door shut with a thud. It only takes me a few moments to recognize the error of my ways. Because now, I’m standing far too close to a man who’s not even wearing a shirt.
The man is pretty put together for one of his age. And there’s no denying he’s a handsome guy on a bad day. I lean in slightly, doing my best not to make it too obvious that I’ve shifted closer and failing.
He shifts backward, frowning as he asks, “What the fuck are you doing?”
I straighten and step back with a shrug. “Nothing.”
He’s eying me thoughtfully, his expression giving nothing away. I search for words, for a reasonable explanation as to why I’m suddenly here, in his space, insisting on discussing painful events from decades gone by after avoiding it for so long. Maybe it’s being so close to getting Antoinette back. Maybe it’s the timeline of love and loss documented in pictures on Declan’s walls. Maybe it’s the insistence from Agatha and just knowing that there’s no more leeway for excuses.
Maybe it’s none of that at all.
Maybe I’m tired of carrying it inside, and this is the only obvious step.
Without warning, he leaps forward, and all I manage to do is step back as he turns me so my back is pressed against the door, effectively trapping me as he crowds me with his body.
He rests his forearms against the door, bracketing my head, and I feel the heat of his chest against my breasts.
He doesn’t say anything; he just leans in closer so we’re not so much physically touching as the auras of our bodies mingle. Dancing. I hold my breath, my blood singing in my veins as he becomes still, his cheek just touching my temple.
This is certainly the closest I’ve been to him in decades, and I find my breath stuck in my throat as shame and anger rush over me. My hands rise, hovering along his torso, itching to touch him but fearing if I do, he’ll shatter into a million pieces.
“Did you come here to torture me?” His voice is low as it cuts through the silence, barely even a whisper, but it echoes through my head like thunder. “Did you come here to play a little game with me, to get another thrill in your bid for restitution?”
I frown, shaking my head in confusion because, frankly, he’s making no fucking sense. “No. What the fuck are you talking about?”
He shifts forward, closing the hair’s breadth of distance between us until he’s pressed against me, his hips to mine, his chest to my breasts, and his head lowers as he whispers into my ear, “No need to play coy with me, Lilith. You know I’ll happily take whatever punishment you put forth. Just make a list, and we’ll check it off one by one. But I’m sure, even then, it won’t be enough.”
Again, I shake my head; this time, my hands come up between us, and I shove at his chest until he steps back a few feet. “No, really, Antonio. What the fuck are you talking about? Restitution? Punishment?”
He frowns, and his handsome face twists in pain as he says gruffly, “Surely, I don’t have to explain restitution and punishment to the likes of you.”
I push off the door, taking a step toward him before I stop myself. “Well, if nothing else, you seem to have your wires crossed because if anyone deserves restitution, you do. And if anyone deserves punishment, it would be me.”
At first, he stares at me dumbfounded. Then he laughs, rough and pained bitterness falling from his lips as I stare at him like he’s a crazy person, but I don’t say anything. I let him laugh it off until, after a while, he stands there, shaking his head, a look of disgust on his face. “I don’t know how you could even say that after what I did to you.”
I will admit when Agatha mentioned he may not have the story straight, I figured that maybe she was confused. But it’s quite evident from this short exchange that he honestly has no idea what happened so many years ago.
My shoulders slump, and I hang my head, not at all wanting to have this conversation but knowing I now have no choice. It’s bad enough living with the sins of your past without having to admit them to those you’ve sinned against.
“Antonio,” I reply softly, closing the distance between us until I’m stopped in front of him. Briefly, I wonder if there’s a way I can get around the bitter truth here, but the look of agony on his face has me continuing, “Whatever it is you think you did, I can assure you, it’s not true.”
His jaw clenches, anger flaring in his eyes as he shakes his head violently, his hands clenching into fists as he grits out, “There’s no need to hide the truth from me, Lilith. The sheer depth of the monster inside me has been explained to me countless times over the years in explicit detail. And regardless of the things I’ve done in an attempt to rectify my earlier behavior, that doesn’t negate it or make it better. It doesn’t take away the great hurt I inflicted on you.”
His words have fury and shame warring inside me. Fury at the true monsters who lied to him about what happened and shame at myself for not explaining sooner. I rest my hand on his forearm, and he flinches slightly, so I pull back, gripping my hands in front of me as I whisper, “No. No, that’s not what happened.”
He’s looking at the floor, and after a long moment, his eyes raise to mine, and the deep pain I see there has my guts clenching. For all these years, he truly believed he was a monster.
He shakes his head slightly and whispers, “I don’t understand.”
Adrenaline rushes through me, and I leap forward, gripping his cheeks in both of my hands and forcing him to focus entirely on my face. “That’s not what happened, Antonio. Whatever they told you, none of it was true. You didn’t do anything to me. You never did anything to me.”
Again, he shakes his head in my hands, and I step in closer, gripping his head tightly so he can bear witness to the truth in my eyes. And then he mutters, “But Antoinette.”
I nod, staring him down as I say, “Yes, Antoinette. Antoinette is living proof that something did happen between us, but not proof that you were ever the aggressor. Not proof that you were the monster in the equation.”
His frown deepens, his jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as again he shakes his head in my grip like he’s still trying to deny what truly happened. He attempts to look away, his eyes darting around the room, and I squeeze his head even harder, giving him a little shake until he’s focused on my face again. “Listen to me, Antonio. Hear my words and the truth behind them.”
He stares at me almost vacantly. I continue to stare back, my gaze unflinching, my fingers flexing behind his ears as he once again attempts to shake me off and fails. Slowly, he relaxes in my grip, his curt nod urging me to continue, “They knew you wouldn’t do it. They knew there was nothing that they could offer you to get you to put a hand on me willfully. They knew if they even mentioned it to you directly, most likely, you would do something to try to save me, and they couldn’t have that. They couldn’t risk having their master plans thwarted at the first go, but they also couldn’t start elsewhere because you were the first target.”
His jaw clenches even tighter, and his eyes gleam with decades of pent-up emotion. I go up on my toes, pulling him down to me so we’re eye-to-eye, my words a pained whisper, “So they drugged you. We drugged you. I fucking drugged you.”
His eyes widen, understanding slowly dawning as my words sink in and take hold. Then, he shakes his head again, this time, his hands coming up between us as he pushes me away and whirls around, shouting, “No. No, that’s not what fucking happened.”
I don’t allow him any space. I follow right along until he’s in the corner, attempting to turn away from me to shield himself from my sight and my voice as I yell, “But it is. They painted you out to be a monster to hide your own victimization. Because they wanted you to see yourself as the monster, even though you never had a choice. They wanted you to see yourself as a monster, so they had something to hold over you, a possible way to control you in the future.”
He presses himself farther into the corner, hunched over with his hands pressing against his ears, his head shaking back and forth as if he’s trying to deflect my words. My heart cracks in my chest because Antonio Rossi is not a man who runs; he’s not a man who turns away; he’s not a man who hides from the truth. I step in close to him until I’m a mere inch from touching him, and I hear him muttering, “No. No. No.”
I rest a hand on his back, my other hand on his arm. “Yes, Antonio. You were never the monster. They took advantage of you. I took advantage of you. We tricked you.” He stops muttering and goes completely still, so I add softly, brokenly, “I fucking raped you.”
Without warning, he comes alive. Whirls on me. His hands suddenly grip my face almost painfully. He’s right there, wild eyes boring into mine as he spits out, “Don’t you ever fucking say that.”
My hands hold his wrists, the aching pain in my chest almost taking my words, but I manage to choke out, “It’s true. That’s exactly what I did to you. I did that. Me. I’m the fucking monster.”
“Stop it,” he shouts, the force of his words hitting me directly in my face. His eyes are wild, but some of the urgency leaves him as he stares at me. His thumbs stroke over my cheeks, a contradiction to the painful grip of his palms along my jaw and his fingertips gripping my skull as he practically lifts me off my feet. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“You don’t want to hear the truth?”
“Maybe two opposite things can be true at the same time.”
Laughing bitterly, my hands flex on his wrists, my feet once again firmly on the floor as he relaxes slightly, but he doesn’t release me. “Not in this case, Antonio. In this case, I did the terrible thing. Me. Not you. I need you to understand and accept this because we both can’t carry the sins of that event and survive each other.”
He presses his forehead against mine and whispers, “Sometimes, we do terrible things because we have no other choice. But that one terrible thing doesn’t label us for life.”
I laugh humorously, watching some of that pain bleed from his eyes as I reply, “I’ve always been a monster.”
He smiles almost sadly, his eyes closing as he says, “Well, I don’t believe that, but if it helps, I forgive you.”
I jerk away as if he physically slapped me. “I didn’t ask for your forgiveness.”
My vision swims as emotion overwhelms me, and I try to blink away the rush of tears that has me feeling utterly ridiculous. Holding my breath, I attempt to distract myself and fail, hot tears already rolling down my cheeks. I blink rapidly, this time trying and failing to regulate my breath as the wounded child inside me attempts to claw her way free from the monster she was forced to become.
For a moment, Antonio’s face becomes clear, and I see my own battle reflected in his eyes, decades of pain and anguish slowly trailing down his cheeks.
The sob that breaks free is guttural and animalistic, and he responds in kind as he releases my face and gathers me close. His arms wrap around me, one hand pressed between my shoulders and the other gripping the back of my neck, yanking me tightly against him.
He presses his face into my neck, and after a moment, I manage to free my arms where they’re trapped between us. Tentatively, I move my hands down his sides and around until I’m lightly gripping his back.
He tightens his hold on me, eliminating any space between us, emotion a vibrant current between us. He’s almost silent in his grief, but still, it cuts me open, and I press my hands onto his back, yanking fiercely. He responds with a choked sob that breaks me.
His arms flex around me, squeezing and releasing, the wet trail of tears against my neck matching my own tears against his bare chest. I whisper over and over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
His apology echoes in my ear, and we remain like that, wrapped tightly around each other as we each let go of the torment of our past, frozen in that timeless space where hope and grief collide.
Knowing that now, in this moment, we have the choice of an unwritten future.