Chapter 41 #3
A smile full of compassion takes over my face because she's exactly like a small child.
I never realized she was begging for love too, just in her own way.
Because in this house, she got the attention, but outside of it, I was the one who shone.
I always had better grades than her, won more dance competitions than her, got more boys' attention than her.
At home, attention and love came easily for her while I fought for every crumb.
But that made me fight for attention outside the house too, so she started with a handicap against me.
"I'd love to see you try," I tell her because Damien is right.
I'm too humble. Too submissive. And I hate being that way in front of them.
They won't accept me. They didn't accept me when I changed my clothes, when I changed my habits, when I weighed every word that came out of my mouth. Why would they now?
"I could, but he's not worth the effort. I'm sure you conquered your husband with your multiple talents too, definitely inherited from your mother." She says the last words more quietly, but I hear them.
"What did you say?" I ask, and I know she notices how the temperature in the room has dropped several degrees. "Repeat what you just said to my face, Aria."
"Come on, Roxy. Stop playing saint now. You spread your legs for a scrap of affection, you poor thing."
"Repeat what you said before," I tell her slowly, articulating each word.
Aria has many good qualities, but using her brain at the right moments isn't one of them, because her chin lifts.
"I said you surely got that talent from your mommy. We all know why that psycho killed her, Roxy. If she wasn't spreading her legs left and right—"
Before she finishes, my palm connects with her cheek. Tears sting my eyes and I'm shaking, every inch of me buzzing with fury, disappointment, and the urge to rip the hair right out of her head.
Not a word about my mother. About the only person who loved me unconditionally.
Her cheek flushes instantly and her eyes fill with tears.
"How dare you?" I know my words are now screams. "How dare you say that to me in this place, in this place where I had to see her empty eyes for the last time? WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO TALK LIKE THAT ABOUT SOMEONE YOU NEVER KNEW, WHO WAS MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD IN HER OWN HOME?"
Damien, Zion, Ivette, and my father rush into the kitchen, probably alerted by my screams, but Aria speaks first.
"She hit me," she whispers to them.
Damien measures me from head to toe, and I give him a small smile. I'm okay. Physically, at least. But inside, I have a tsunami that needs to be released.
His eyes narrow on my tears, on the way my hand is shaking, and I know his entire body is stone right now.
"I don't know what got into her. I just made an observation," Aria tries to explain, and my father takes her in his arms.
I shake my head, another wave of fury entering my bloodstream. Of course he believes her.
"She insulted my mother," I whisper, trembling.
"That's no reason to be a barbarian," Ivette shouts, checking Aria's cheek.
"Leave," comes the voice of the man who, for the thousandth time, breaks my heart.
At his tone, a shiver runs through my body, and then Damien steps in front of me, but I hold his hand.
I don't want to see what the walls of this house would look like if his blade makes contact with anyone.
And holding his hand, I look at the man who I wished would be my father but was only a stranger who put food on the table.
"Twenty-three times I waited for you to come to my dance competitions.
Twenty-three instances where I made excuses for you because I refused to see the truth.
You know you never told me you loved me?
" I ask with tears in my eyes. "Not even once.
You told Aria, and I stopped counting the number of times those three words left your mouth for her, because I couldn't take the sting in my chest every time I waited for you to say them to me too, but you just avoided me.
As if the mere sight of me disgusted you. "
"Roxy," he begins, but I raise my hand and he goes silent.
"No. You've had twenty-seven years to talk, now you'll listen to me. I know you somehow blame me for her death, and believe me, I'd give anything to go back to that night, not to have stayed in that closet."
Damien's hand tenses on my forearm and I feel him vibrating beside me, but I can't stop now.
"Anything. Because that night, maybe not physically, but I died for you too.
You rebuilt your family but forgot to include me in it.
I stopped wearing sequins for you, you know?
I thought they were the reason you didn't want to spend time with me.
Then I gave up braids because I thought maybe that's why you wouldn't look at me.
I started analyzing every word I said to you ten times because I thought that way you'd ask me how my day was.
I let that woman yank me, pull my hair, slap me, without complaining, because she's the woman you chose for yourself, and I thought if I accepted her as she is, you'd accept me too.
Even now I can't eat broccoli cheddar soup, because when I was seven, she forced me to eat two bowls just because I told her it had a weird color.
I threw up three times that night. I begged you, after the first half bowl, to let me go to my room, and you told me no.
That I needed to learn to appreciate the food put on my plate.
What parent watches their own child turn green and keeps eating calmly?
What parent doesn't check on their child when they hear them emptying their stomach in the bathroom?
What kind of father are you?" The last question comes out as a whisper, and I taste the salt from the tears running over my lips.
He’s red in the face, and maybe because I want to believe it, I see a trace of regret in his gaze.
Before he opens his mouth, Damien springs from behind me without me being able to stop him and slams my father against the nearest wall.
Something's not right.
His back muscles are tense, but what worries me is the air around him. It’s like an invisible fog of rage.
Aria starts screaming, and Zion takes a step back, followed by Ivette.
"Damien," I whisper and put my hand on his forearm, but he shakes me off, his hand flexing.
"You had one responsibility. One. To take care of her," he tells my father, who's turning purple.
"Damien, let him go," I tell him clearly, but it's like he doesn't hear me.
What the hell is happening to him?
With his other hand, he reaches behind his back and pulls out a blade hidden beneath his jacket, and I know that if I don't intervene, in seconds that knife will be buried in the man who raised me.
So, ignoring the women's screams in the kitchen and Zion, who I think is calling the police, I insert myself between Damien and my father.
I don't have much room, and when I look into his eyes, I know it's not him. It's not the man who made love to me in the bathroom an hour ago. It's not the man who kisses my cheeks before leaving me. It's not the man who promised me he wouldn't miss a single dinner.
Because his entire gaze is covered by a veil. Of fury. Of confusion.
Before that blade makes contact with my father, I grab it by the handle, but in the process, I cut myself. Fuck.
I can't help but make a sound from the sting, and only then do his eyes find me and clear.
Just that simply.
"S?onko?" he asks hoarsely.
"Yes, baby," I answer with a smile.
His eyes weigh the entire scene—his hand at my father's throat, the knife in both our hands, the blood dripping down my wrist—and he instantly takes two steps back.
I turn to the two women staring in horror at Damien, then to Zion.
"Not a word about what happened. For your own good."
In their eyes is something I never thought I'd see: fear. And I can't help it, a smile spreads across my face.
I turn to my father, who still has wide eyes from shock and Damien's fingerprints around his throat.
Normally I'd feel a wave of guilt, but I know why my husband had that reaction.
And I can't make my heart feel any remorse.
Maybe because now I know what it should feel like when someone loves you, without compromise and without trying to change you.
"I'm sorry for you," I tell the man who raised me. "I'm sorry you'll never know what an amazing woman I am. I am sorry you’ll never see me shine."
My gaze moves to Ivette, and a smile full of pity appears on my face.
"I'd check if all that injected Botox wasn't expired, because you have one cheekbone lower than the other.
You can have all the surgeries, you can weigh the same as you did at twenty, not a single gray hair on your head, impeccable manicure.
..and still, you'll never be her. Not even if you're reborn.
As for you, Aria," and I look now at my "sister," "call me when you want me to organize your divorce party because I guarantee, in six months max, your man's dick will be paying rent at other women's places," and I leave without looking back.
Because my husband needs me.
Damien leaves the house like it is on fire. I know he's processing what happened in that kitchen, so I don't say anything until we're on the road.
"Damien."
"Not now, Roxanne."
I bite my tongue but stay quiet. I'm not delusional, I understand the gravity of his actions. This lack of control is dangerous. Especially when you have witnesses, especially when you don't know what you're leaving behind.
When we get home, he instantly gets out of the car, and I run after him.
Vasili looks at us with a frown as we climb the stairs one after the other, but I wave at him to stay there.
Damien enters our bedroom, goes to the closet, and takes my clothes out one by one then throws them on the bed.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I ask, feeling myself becoming a wreck of nerves too.