39. West
Flashback
Age 18
The day of
A jolt runs through my body, snapping me wide awake. I try to open my eyes, but all I see is darkness in front of me. Still slightly groggy from sleep, I spot a silhouette emerging from the shadows—a figure cloaked in darkness, wearing it like a second skin. A distant murmur attempts to reach my ears, but it’s drowned out by the heavy thudding in my head. It takes me a moment to realize that Dad is trying to wake me.
I jump upright, yanking the headphones out of my ears. Adrenaline surges through my veins, and I feel sweat pooling on my back from the fear pulsing in my skull. Dad will kill me for this. He didn’t know I bought new headphones until now. He’ll see it as disobedience, and the punishment for that will be far worse than anything I can imagine.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I blurt out, clumsily rolling up the wires and shoving them into the pocket of my pajama pants, clinging to the faint hope that he didn’t see them in the dark. “I was ? —”
“It’s okay, son,” he interrupts, his voice calm as ever. I freeze, bracing myself for an outburst, but nothing comes. I nearly choke when he places his hand on my shoulder and rubs a reassuring circle.
Dad has been getting angrier lately. There were a few failed attempts to create a clearer product, costing him a lot of money, time, and chemicals. Many people have suffered because of that, and I’ve been their executioner.
So I struggle to understand why he’s so composed now. Even when I did everything right, he always managed to sound irritated and angry with me. But right now? He seems eerily calm.
“I want to show you something,” he says. When his hand slips from my shoulder, I take a deep breath, suddenly aware of how starved for oxygen I’ve been. “Come with me.”
Confused, I quickly turn off the music player and scramble up, knowing Dad isn’t the most patient person, and I don’t want to test him—especially not when he’s being so nice. He opens the door, revealing a corridor shrouded in darkness. Did he walk through the house with the lights off?
A prickle of fear slices through me, and unease coils in the pit of my stomach like tiny snakes wriggling inside. My knees feel weak as sweat begins to bead on my forehead. With each step I take, my unease intensifies, reaching a crescendo as I realize he’s leading me straight to the basement.
Something is very, very wrong. Still, I don’t stop following him; I don’t want to make things worse than they already are. Deep down, though, a nagging feeling tells me that it can’t be worse than whatever is about to come.
He presses his palm against the door and swings it open, revealing a brightly lit basement. The harsh light makes me squint, its intensity piercing through my swollen eyelids. It takes a moment for me to register that there are other people in the room. A violent scream erupts, and I don’t need to look to know who it is.
Amelia.
Instinct kicks in, and I try to nudge Dad with my shoulder as I storm past him, but one of the guards blocks my path. His hand slams into my shoulder, pushing me back and nearly sending me sprawling to the floor.
“West!” Amelia shrieks, desperately wriggling against the bonds that tie her wrists and ankles. “What is happening? Why are you doing this?”
“Please, just let us go! We didn’t do anything!” a boy beside her cries out, breaking into tears a second later. A wave of recognition sweeps over me in an instant. It’s Julian, her brother.
What the fuck is going on?
“What is this?” I demand, my voice trembling amid the chaotic screams erupting from both of them. “What the fuck is this, Dad?!”
“See, Julian,” he begins, unbothered by the turmoil around us. He ignores me, focusing instead on her brother. “You’re right. You didn’t do anything. Neither you nor Amelia.” Then, he turns to me, his dead eyes locking onto mine. “But my son did. I waited for him to come to his senses and stop disobeying me, but he was selfish. Now, he must pay.”
A million questions race through my mind. First, how did he find out I’m still seeing Amelia when I was so careful? Second, why would he fabricate this whole scenario? And third, what does he intend for me to do? Countless dark possibilities surge through my thoughts, each worse than the last. I can’t bear to believe what I suspect.
It can’t be real. It just fucking can’t.
“I feel generous tonight,” Dad says, grabbing a knife from the table. Their screams grow louder as they struggle against their bonds. “So I’m going to give you a choice. Your girlfriend’s life,” he taunts, handing the knife to one of the guards. “Or her brother’s life.”
The guard steps closer, forcing the knife handle into my palm. Dad doesn’t trust me to take it from him, fearing I might act on impulse and stab him instead. And he’s right; if he wasn’t careful, I would’ve stabbed him in the heart before the guards pulled me back.
He’s clever. Even his choice of weapon—a knife instead of a gun—shows that he’s prepared for this. He knows I’d fucking shoot him if I had the chance, even with the risk of his dogs snapping my neck right after it.
“Dad, please, don’t make me do this,” I whisper, my vision blurring with tears that threaten to spill over. I know he’ll beat me later for crying like a baby, but at this moment, I don’t care. All I want is for him to stop, to change his mind. “Please, I’ll never speak to her again. Just let her go. I’m begging you.”
The muscle under his eye twitches as he bows his head in disappointment. “You have a chance to let her go, West. Choose, or I’ll kill both of them.”
A sob wracks my body as I glance back at Amelia, her eyes wide with fear and betrayal. Pleas and cries for help spill from her lips, but I can’t process them through the fog of despair that envelops me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
My hands tremble violently, and I grip the knife tighter, terrified it might slip from my fingers. This is all my fault. I couldn’t resist being part of Amelia’s life, knowing full well what I am and the life I lead. I was aware that my choices would have consequences, yet I barged into her world anyway.
Selfish. I’m so fucking selfish and stupid.
“I’m so sorry, Amelia,” I croak, stepping toward Julian while keeping my gaze locked on her. “I’m so, so fucking sorry for this.”
Dad knew I would choose her life over her brother’s. I don’t understand how he plans to cover this up, but I realize he’s orchestrated this entire situation perfectly. He’s always had connections and the ability to wriggle out of trouble. He’s become invincible over the years. Unbelievable as it is, he’s at the top now, with the whole city under his thumb. From cops to local politicians, he’s got them all. Like some fucking supervillain, he’ll leave this mess with clean hands.
What he wants is for me to carry this burden. Killing both of them wouldn’t give him the satisfaction he craves. But for me to live with the knowledge that I harmed someone I love, while she’s out there, hating me and unable to get the help she needs—that’s a victory for him. It’s the perfect punishment, one that will feed his sick soul for a long time.
“West, please, don’t do this,” she begs, and a sharp, internal ache blooms in my chest, as if something is ripping me open. “West, I love you. I love you, do you hear me?”
She repeats it several more times, and a hot, coiling rage rises in my throat, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. She doesn’t love me. She laughed when I confessed my feelings, and now she’s saying this out of pity.
The moment this is over, she’ll call me a psychopath and walk away, pointing a finger at me, screaming for me to never come near her again. Tonight, I’m losing her forever.
Muffling her voice, I do what I must. With one swift, trained motion, I slice his throat, feeling the rush of blood pouring from the open wound, the droplets staining my face and clothes. Nausea surges in my throat, a burning, bitter sensation that fills me.
Tears stream down my cheeks, but when I take a few steps back and open my eyes, I feel nothing. I see her screaming and thrashing against her bonds, and I can read the words on her lips, but they fall on deaf ears.
Someone takes the knife from my hand, and I feel Dad’s heavy hand on my shoulder as he pats it, mumbling something about pride.
The very thing I wanted to feel and hear from him for so long now leaves me with only a sense of void.
Everything around me blurs into a swirl of colors and indistinguishable noises. The last thing I register is Amelia’s faint voice repeating a word like a broken record.
Monster.
That’s what Dad calls me, too. And no matter how much I convinced myself I wasn’t like that, at this moment, I embrace the label. I am, indeed, a monster. Tonight has proven it. I will carry that label for the rest of my life.
And everyone knows that monsters don’t deserve to be loved.