Chapter 62
Mila
I take a seat, placing my sketchbook on the table. My shift is over, but I can ’ t go home. A sugar rush has left me too exhausted to walk. Nonnina ’ s determination got me to gobble down two more of her pastries.
I need to figure out what I ’ m going to do. Avery set me up with enough money to survive a year, but my income as a server isn ’ t going to cover the small apartment I have, let alone food for the rest of my life. I ’ m going to have to get a second job, but I want it to matter. I want to help people.
Maybe there is a shelter nearby?
It would be easier to help them if I stayed and Dash just loved me. I could use his resources and my inheritance to fund everything. That ’ s what Avery did; she stayed and fought covertly.
Could I return?
Avery might kill me if I sabotage her efforts, but maybe I could convince her to let me help her.
The backpack on your shoulders is not a superhero ’ s cape, Mila.
I wish it was.
Dash would…cage me, or maybe he ’ d be so exasperated he ’ d let me live alone. Maybe he is with someone else? I know what it ’ s like to have lonely nights itch your skin raw. That ’ s what broke me, all that scratching, and I fell into Dom ’ s arms.
I never mourned Dom. Is that normal? I mean, I was happy he died after what he did.
Happy.
Maybe the problem is that I never acknowledged the life I was born into. I ’ ve been running since I could crawl. Maybe I should have bent my world to my needs and used its corrupt power to my will. Would I resemble Avery? Brave and determined.
My eyes clash with my backpack. I could use that phone and call Dash, making a deal with him. Would that work? Or could I call my dad and beg him to help me return, but…then what? Should I ask my father to make Dash respect me?
“ God, I ’ m pathetic.” I wheeze.
I ’ m officially at a crossroad. I ’ m no longer scared to look in the mirror. I like that about myself; maybe I love it. I know what I want to do with my life, but being on the run makes that vision of the future impossible. I need power and resources. I need my family, but I need them to respect me.
How the fuck do I do that?
Speaking of boots, I wonder what Nova is doing. I never met a girl who loved boots as much as she did. Is she worried about me? No, she would be proud.
Nova would help me. She ’ d used her boot to kick open the door of anarchy, making it her bitch. Nova, Avery, and I could be a powerful team, freeing girls from our world.
My lips tug up.
That ’ s a nice dream.
“ You ’ re always spinning that ring,” Nonnina grumbles as she plops into the empty chair.
Oh, I didn ’ t realize I was touching my wedding band; the metal is so warm to the touch that I must have been holding it for a while now.
“ It calms me.” Let go of it. There, place your hands on your lap to hide it.
Nonnina grimaces as she tries to straighten her spine. “ Why did you leave him? “
You would never believe me. “ We just saw our future differently.” Wow, I can be honest if I twist my words.
Nonnina tips her head back, looking down her nose at me as the sun warms her face. I never knew my grandparents, but I imagine they would ponder me the same way she does. Like I ’ m an extension of one of them, but I ’ m flailing about wildly trying to learn how to walk. Instead of struggling, I just need to stay still and find my balance.
“ But you love him,” she states as a fact.
Is it that obvious? “ Yes.”
“ Did he cheat on you?”
“ No.”
“ Hurt you?” She asks rapidly. I ’ m used to her questions, although she usually avoids my personal life and focuses on my bad fashion.
“ We both hurt each other,” I mutter.
She rubs her eyes, tired from the morning rush of hungry bellies. “ But there is still something to be salvaged. That ’ s why you rub that ring like a genie ’ s bottle.”
My eyes crinkle as I look down at my sketchbook. “ I don ’ t know,” I whisper. “ Broken things are never the same again.”
“ We all crack with age.” Nonnina chuckles. “ That ’ s why I stopped looking in the mirror.”
I laugh. It feels good to make that sound again.
“ And he must love you. If he didn ’ t, you wouldn ’ t have run.”
I freeze and run my tongue over the roof of my mouth, trying to moisten it. “ What makes you think I ran?” Avery said Nonnina was not a part of our world.
“ Darling,” she bats her lashes, “ no one comes to this town unless they are hiding. We ’ re a shadow overlooked. Only cheap tourists stay here. Everyone goes to the city where they hope to find love. You ’ re young and beautiful. If he cheated on you or didn ’ t love you, you would have moved to a city.” She glances down at my hands. “ When your shift is done, you always sit here and spin your ring. Your eyes look ahead down the street like you ’ re waiting for him to walk down it. To come and find you.”
“ I don ’ t want to be found.”
Her gray brow arches. Liar, her silence says.
“ I can ’ t return,” I admit. “ He ’ d never forgive me, and I can ’ t live that life.”
“ Can you endure this one? Wasting your youth on a man as you hide away.”
I thought old people were kind, sweet, and gentle. “ I ’ m trying.”
“ It ’ s never too late to change things.”
“ I never had the power to spark change.”
“ Then find it. Power doesn ’ t simply slip into your hands. It ’ s taken. Grab him by the balls.” She balls her fists in the air, shaking them.
I giggle again. “ I have a friend who would have loved you.” Nova.
“ Is she American?”
Actually, I don ’ t know where Nova is from, but she has enough confidence and an abrupt manner to be classified as an American. She ’ s a mystery who tried to trick a King and failed, but she won in the end.
“ Yeah.” I numbly reply.
“ One American friend is enough.” She rolls her eyes.
“ You sound like my art teacher.”
“ I don ’ t mean offense.”
“ She does,” I smirk.
Nonnina taps the table. “ Marriage is like a table. Sometimes, it is sturdy; other times, it wobbles. Sometimes, it ’ s filled to the edges; other times, it ’ s empty. Marriage is a negotiation; you have to sit down and hash things out continually. If there is still love and respect, then it ’ s never too late.”
“ What if one of those things is missing?”
She stands slowly, grasping the table to balance. “ Negotiate.” She points her finger at me, somehow making the gesture look lovely. “ Demand it. Women are good at that.” She winks and then walks away.
◆◆◆
Friends in my world are more like currency. Something to be traded or banked away. Friendship isn ’ t given freely. It ’ s far too valuable.
I see a friendship with Nonnina. When she talks to me, it ’ s welcomed banter, like a best friend trying to correct my mistakes. Nothing about Nonnina screams ill will towards me.
I can ’ t say that about my art teacher. Something has changed. Camilla has always been abrupt, but I can ’ t help but feel like her lessons were breadcrumbs that I followed. She wanted me to eat slowly, whereas Nonnina force-fed me out of love.
Camilla sees me as her student, but she wants my friendship. I see it each time I step into the art class now. Her red-lipped smile and pretty assessing eyes, always watching and judging my art, are partly a lie.
They hoodwinked me. Camilla masked her motives with her pushy lessons. She didn ’ t come off as begging for my friendship. Camilla ’ s good. She pushed me away.
I was the one who came back to her.
That, or maybe my thoughts over the past few days, are just me going utterly paranoid. Ever since Nonnina pointed out that I touch my wedding band, I ’ ve noticed that others have looked at me as I grasp it.
“ Maybe it ’ s all in my head?” I mutter as I spin the ring around my finger, just holding it like a block of ice, claiming the remains of an extinct creature. I feel like Camilla ’ s eyes are chisels breaking through the tundra, trying to discover the truth, whereas Nonnina ’ s questions were more like ropes being tossed down to help me. I can ’ t explain the difference between Nonnina and Camilla. It ’ s there, blindingly so.
In the time I ’ ve been on the run, I have learned a lot.
I noticed more.
Every art class, Camilla comes close, standing off to the side as she watches me draw.
I ’ ve come to discover that she is not transfixed by my charcoal pressed to the paper or canvas.
It ’ s my wedding ring.
This has led me to ask Nonnina, the mother of all gossip, more about Camilla. The shocking truth is that Nonnina doesn ’ t know much about Camilla because she ’ s new to town—she came a few months before I did. She leaves town on the weekends and comes back only to teach her classes. She doesn ’ t venture out, not even to eat or gossip. Only her students have come to learn her voice.
It might be a coincidence, but Camilla ’ s push to open up tricked me into thinking I did it of my own free will. One night, when I was punching the air during my self-defense class, the idea just sparked in my mind. It stained my thoughts, turning them all sodden.
Was Camilla who she claimed to be?
I thought about calling Avery, but I was on my own. There was no gun pressed to my head. I needed to figure this out myself.
I missed the past four art classes, looking over my shoulder as I walked to and from work, staying up all night, clutching my backpack, and telling myself to run while I could. Then I talked myself into believing I was paranoid.
Camilla is an art teacher. Every teacher is pushy.
My hand is so sweaty the ring slides off my finger with ease.
Gasp! Exhale. Inhale faster before you pass out. Breathe!
My breath becomes labored as I place the ring on the counter. I look at it like I ’ m stranded on an island, and my ship is slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
It ’ s the last part of Dash I have clung to. A relic of a life no longer tangible.
Slowly, I grab my bag and walk to the door, turning to look back at it. I want to see if Camilla will notice.
Then what, you fool?
I don ’ t know. I just have this gut feeling that no one in my world is who they claim to be.
Not even me.
◆◆◆
“ You seem nervous,” Camilla announces as she comes to stand next to me. She ’ s avoided me most of the evening as she helps critique the other students. The hour has run late, and now it ’ s just me and two others, one of whom is beginning to pack up.
A pile of paper surrounds my feet. I have made many failed attempts to start a new drawing, but all I managed to do was watch Camilla.
I really have gone deranged. She ’ s just a normal teacher; Nonnina is a normal old lady running her cafe.
I rub my eyes till I see stars. “ I didn ’ t sleep good,” I respond.
Camilla rubs her chin as she looks at my blank sheet of paper. “ I haven ’ t had a good night ’ s sleep in years,” she mutters, “ thus my growing caffeine addiction.” A giggle slips from her lips, but her eyes look right at my hands as they drop into my lap.
Oh my god! The lingering of her gaze on my empty finger can ’ t be missed.
Why are her lips turning up?
I touch my backpack with the edge of my sneakers. I can grab it and run, find a place to call Dante to come and…save me.
Save yourself, Mila.
“ I enjoyed your last drawing,” Camilla urges. “The way you captured the forest in the reflection of the eye made me feel the fear you were trying to capture.” I drew The Cleansing, the tall trees that swallowed my vision when I first stepped into the forest that night.
The room starts to spin. I stand and wobble. Her hands grasp me, “ Careful.” Red nails gently grasp me like a mother dog clutching her pup between its jaws.
We lock eyes, and she knows I know.
What I know is still a mystery, but I know she ’ s not just an art teacher.
Did Avery set me up? Was this all a sick joke to make me think I was free?
“ La lezione è finita!” Camilla barks with such a stern tone that the last remaining student stands quickly, shoves his belongings in his satchel, and leaves.
Class is over! She says, but she is still gripping my arm.
I jerk it free, but she sinks her nails in deeper. “ If I wanted to hurt you, I would have. Sit.” Her eyes follow the student until the door closes shut. Her hand slips free, but I still feel like her eyes are holding me in place. Grabbing her hair, she twists it into a low bun, using my pencil left on the easel to keep it in place.
“ Why did you take your ring off?” She exhales as if annoyed.
Is she working for Dash? Is that why I ’ ve remained hidden for so many weeks? He knew where I was all along!
I look at the corners of the art room. Are there cameras? Is he watching me at this very moment?
“ Is he watching?” I whisper.
“ No.”
But she knew who I was referring to!
“ Are you working for him?”
“ I work for myself.” She tilts her head, releasing a small crack from her neck. “ I suggest you become more precise with your questions. How do you know we ’ re referring to the same man?” Her brow arches; she looks so regal and stunning, like a monarch posing for a portrait; she holds all the power. “ But to quell your nerves, I am not working for your husband.”
So she ’ s my enemy. Right?
I wipe off the sweat from my forehead. “ Who are you?” Reaching down, I grab my backpack, swinging it on my front like it ’ s a shield.
Dash. His face flashes in my mind. Regret, so much it strangles the next beat of my heart, turning my cheeks a wine-stained red, then a pale, lackluster blue.
I wish I could see him one more time.
Is that pathetic?
All I ever wanted was to run. I did it, and I wish I could run back to all of them and tell them I understood. The breath that leaves my lungs threatens to knock me off my feet. I understand now! I know why he could not claim he loved me—for reasons like this.
Enemies.
Dash was and is one of my greatest foes. He knew this. I was the fool who tried to make him my ally.
I think in time, I could have formed an alliance with him, one where he respected me enough to trust me and risk me. Risk is what wins a war.
If only I had been patient enough to try again then. But my heart was too broken to wait, so I ran.
Dash ’ s entire life was a lesson about purging flaws from your flesh. But instead of tossing me aside, he caught me and married me. Bound me to him.
Why couldn ’ t it have been enough?
I wish it were.
I ignored what I needed and grasped what I wanted. I needed to learn how to fight and how to show Dash and everyone else who thought I was weak, that I could be strong and protect myself. All this time spent trying to run should have been spent learning to fight.
Instead, I ’ m punching the air alone in my room. I could have been fighting by his side.
“ My name is Camilla, just as yours is Mila.” She squares her shoulder to me, unimpressed, eyes glaring at my backpack.
“ Sit down.”
“ You sit down.”
Her chest widens. “ Fine.” She grabs the stool next to my easel and sits, legs crossed like she ’ s about to interview me.
“ I don ’ t work with Avery, nor did Dash send me. I ’ m not going to kill you either.”
So you know a lot, don ’ t you?
Each proclamation feels like a bullet to my chest. “ What do you want?” I ask, inhaling deep, knowing this is the last time I will smell this air. If, by some chance, she lets me live, I will have to run. My life will be over again. I see the pattern repeating endlessly, wrapping around me like a cheap, itchy jacket on a sweltering summer ’ s day.
“ I want your help.”
“ With what?” I step back as the room tunnels. If you don ’ t breathe and get control of your heartbeat, you ’ ll pass out. Then you ’ re dead! Calm down!
“ Please don ’ t run out that door. I won ’ t chase you. Not in these heels. I ’ m offering you a chance.” She stares at me like a parent does a naughty toddler.
I hug my backpack. “ Keep talking.”
“ Why did you take your ring off?”
Why do you care?
She wants my help; she ’ s not working with Avery or Dash. She ’ s a new threat. Who cares deeply that I…detached myself from Dash.
I decide to lie. “ Because that part of my life is over. I ’ m ready to move on.”
“ Why didn ’ t you take it off when you were first placed here?”
Sweat drips down my back, “ I…wasn ’ t ready.”
“ But you are now?” Her eyes light up. “ Are you ready to move on?”
“ Answer my questions first.” I take another step back. She does as she promises, not moving an inch in my direction.
You can run! If you ’ re fast, she won ’ t catch you; if she’s honest, she won ’ t even try.
A dip of her chin has me continuing. “ How do you know who Avery is?”
“ I tried to recruit her. She said no, so I moved on. I ’ m sure she is regretting that decision now.”
What does that mean? “ You killed her?”
“ No,” Camilla scoffs, as if insulted. “ Unlike others, I don ’ t have to kill unless provoked.” Her charming smile turns murderous. “ That ’ s a warning not to threaten me.”
“ Aren ’ t you scared I ’ ll run back to Dash and tell him about you?”
“ Is that a threat?”
If you hold your backpack tighter, it ’ s going to become a part of your lungs! “ No, it ’ s hypothetical.”
She releases a sweet laugh, like we ’ re gossiping over tea. “ It wouldn ’ t matter now if you did. If you want to go back to him, do so.” She tilts her head, looking me up and down. “ I know what it ’ s like to love someone who will never love you fully. Power is a mistress that never ages or dulls; she rivals the finest wine and seduces everyone in her path. No woman can compete with power, Mila. I know why you ran, because I did the same thing.”
I hold my breath, unable to breathe again until she finishes.
“ I know what it ’ s like to look over your shoulder, to cling to the covers tighter than the stitching on the hem, late at night as sweat coats your skin. To dry heave in a sink until your legs are shaking so badly they refuse to hold you up. When you take a shower, it ’ s fast with haste; that backpack is outside the stall, waiting to be grabbed in case you have to run. When you drink, you swallow the whole cup, just in case it ’ s your last. You scrape the spoon over the plate to try to taste something other than paranoia and dread. Every sunrise is like a gift from god; every moon is the devil reminding you that you ’ re on the run alone in the dark but illuminated, taunting you that you will be found.” A part of her soul leaves her eyes. Utter vacancy takes hold of her. “ I know the same fear of digesting all your food yet never feeling full because fear is always hungry, Mila; it will consume you. There is only one way to end it. You need allies in our world.”
“ You ’ ve been a liar, not a friend.”
“ I haven ’ t lied at all.” Camilla challenges. “ I didn ’ t approach you earlier because you still wore that ring. You still loved him. Do you now?” She looks at my empty finger.
Lie! Her words feel like bullets trying to hit Dash.
“ No.” I look down with guilt.
I know exactly what she wants. To kill Dash, and I will not allow it! But currently, I ’ m a ball of sweat and dread. All I can do is punch the air for five minutes before I grow exhausted. So I lie and pray that she believes me until I can come up with a better plan to save him and myself.
“ Do you hate him?” Camilla asks. I feel her eyes watching me anxiously, like a vulture waiting for me to release my last exhale so she can begin to pick me apart.
“ I ’ ve always hated him.” That ’ s true. From the moment I laid eyes on Dash, I despised him because I loved him. One look, and he stole from me, robbed my future.
And I took his.
We ’ re both guilty.
“ You want to destroy his family?” I question.
A smile on her lip flickers like a bulb struggling to remain lit. “ The Kings are a casualty in my war.”
Kings. Plural. That means Titan, Nova, and Damian.
No!
I ’ m staring down a nuke that is aimed at my family. I lick my lips. She notes the movement. “ I ’ m not asking you to kill them. And if I can salvage their lives, I will. I want to bring down The Rites of Passage, and if the Kings decide to fight till the death to save it, then they will die.” Her voice flows confidently, like an ink pen, onto textured paper.
I itch the palms of my hands, looking left to right like a cornered animal.
“ I ran before I ever got involved with The Rites of Passage.”
“ I know.”
“ Then how can I help you?”
She moves suddenly, adjusting her seat, and I jump back, my backpack raised over my chest. “ I told you I won ’ t kill you.”
“ Why?”
“ Because you ’ re more useful alive. I see myself in you, and I see myself in Avery, too. A scorned woman is toxic. She is a decay that advances and stretches, coating everyone around her in rust and tarnish. A slow death is better than a quick final breath. You and me, we will cause them all to suffer. So I ’ d rather you remain alive, haunting them like a ghost, causing a slow descent into insanity. I ’ d rather watch you fly as they fall to their deaths.”
“ That ’ s comforting,” I sneer. She ’ s a monster, make no mistake.
“ It ’ s the truth. I need your help, and in return, I will make sure you get a good night ’ s sleep. One day, you won ’ t have to fear them. Is that what you want?”
Lie! Lie like your life depends on it because Dash’s life does.
“ I know it ’ s hard. You still feel guilt. He doesn ’ t; Dash felt nothing when he forced you to marry him, then shoved you into a dark corner. He watched you slowly suffer; he was the one that choked you to death. This is your second chance, Mila.”
I struggle to swallow as I shift on my feet. It ’ s easy to act nervous and perform so that she believes my lie.
“ I did love him,” I mutter. I still do, you bitch.
“ I loved someone once. I watched the man I loved manipulate me to sleep with others. I watched as he forced me to give something, only I could give, to people who didn ’ t deserve it. Piece by piece of me, he gave away. I watched as he molded my sister and me and turned us into toys. I watched the man I love kill my sister ’ s mind, but even after that, I still loved him. Then I watched him fall for another.” She shakes her head; all the color drains from her eyes. “ I still loved him then. Even as he held her, his eyes were full of love.”
She laughs bitterly. “ A part of me still loves him now.” She looks me in the eye, stilling my movements. Her pain is so tangible it collides with my next swallow, sickening my belly with grief. “ I ’ m going to take everything from him.”
“ I thought you wanted to take down The Rites of Passage?”
“ He is The Rites of Passage!” she screams, then hesitates, shocked that her composure has slipped. “ I do want to take them down.”
Reaching up, she smoothes her hair. “ That society is his life, his mistress, his god. He sees no separation. He ’ s a part of them. I will take it all from him. First came the council he swore to protect, next I’ll kill the rulers.”
She means Titan! But killing him is like throwing a lit match back into the box. All the kings will fight to the death to avenge him.
“ Without a ruler, The Rites of Passage would become blind, but even deformed, he would still try to defend them. So, I will take the person he loves and watch him fight to the death without a heart, just like I am. I intend to even the battleground as I watch The Rites of Passage burn. Then, when he has nothing left, I will take his life.”
You ’ re insane. “ Who is he?”
“ You don ’ t need to know that. Will you help me or not?”
I need to know more. She ’ s not told me much. Sure, I know there is a massive threat, but there is always a threat against the Kings and the Rites of Passage.
I need to…join her.
“ I ’ ll help you, but I have a condition.”
Her eyes narrow. “ You didn ’ t ask what I need you to do yet.”
I shrug. “ It won ’ t matter. If it means I will be able to step outside and inhale without stress gripping my lungs.” I reach up and touch my heart, trying to sell myself to this mad woman. “ I want…” a tear even slips free; her eyes feel like the stage lights, and I ’ m just a ballerina performing again. “ I want to live and be free, and I don ’ t know how because I do still love him, but that was never enough. He,” I shake my head, “ He always chose his family over me.”
“ They always do.”
She ’ s eating this up.
“ What ’ s your condition?”
I need to compliment her. I wipe my tears away and grind my jaw. I allow my backpack to slip off my shoulders and down my chest as it thuds against the floor. There, I ’ m exposing my heart to her. “ I want to be like you.”
She blinks.
“ I want to be strong. I don ’ t want to be a pawn. I want to be the one that moves the pieces.”
Did I go too far?
She stands and walks to the cabinet, then opens it. Is there a gun inside, a bullet with my name on it?
She comes back with a tube of paint. “ Give me your hand.”
I do.
She uncoils my fingers and twists off the cap. The scent of oil fills my nose as she slowly squeezes out the paint on my fingers. First, a gush of oil drips down my fingers, followed by crimson-red oil paint. She closes my fingers, spreads the paint, and then opens them again.
“ Look at it.” She persists.
Just do as she says. I look down at my fingers covered in red.
“ Can you live like this?” Blood on my hands.
“ You want me to teach you how to be a player and no longer a pawn, Mila?” My shoulder jerks from the hopeful pride on the tip of her tongue. “ I can, but it will be messy. You will have to pick and choose.”
“ What if I can ’ t?” I wiggle my fingers, smearing the paint. I ’ ve avoided this all my life, but in the end, there was always a mess surrounding my feet. Others killed for me. It ’ s time I do it myself.
“ Then you ’ re back to being a pawn.”
My thumb brushes over the buttery paint. “ I…I want to try.” I meet her eyes, which are sparkling with intentions as if I ’ m an added challenge she has accepted.
“ I ’ ll teach you.” She reaches out. It takes everything in me not to flinch as she gently touches my hair like I ’ m a doll on a shelf. “ You ’ re the type of person he would have scouted.” Her eyes look lost again.
“ Who?”
“ Don ’ t ask me again. Trust goes both ways, and I don ’ t trust you yet.” Her lips tug up like a branch swinging in the wind, waiting for me to accept it.
“ I ’ m scared,” I add to my act.
“ You should be, but by my side, you will learn not to be.”
I need her to be invested in me. I need to know all her plans so that when I do escape, I can tell Dash.
“ I ’ m not strong. I wasn ’ t raised to fight, but I want to know how. I want to be strong like you. I want to be able to defend myself against him when he comes for me.”
Her hand slides down my cheek. I want to vomit, but I glance down instead. “ You ’ re something far more valuable than strength. You ’ re resilient like I am. Strength comes and goes. It ’ s like a mountain with many peaks and valleys. Mountains can be toppled with the right amount of ammunition. Resilience is like a fossil frozen in time, long dead and gone but still remaining, waiting to be unearthed and used again, then buried and laid to rest only to repeat the cycle. Again and again.” Her words are like a hum coaxing me into submission.
It ’ s not all a lie. I do want to learn from her. I want to learn how to fight; she just doesn ’ t know it ’ s her I want to end.
She raises my hand, pressing my index finger to her bottom lip, smearing the paint onto her flesh, watching me react to the prelude to death.
I don ’ t. I allow her to move my hand like a puppet.
I ’ m going to save them, Camilla. I won ’ t let you destroy my family.
“ Come on.” She interlocks our hands and guides me to the door. “ We have work to do.”