36
EZLA
I am used to it, as I am used to the arm wrapped possessively around my waist as I stare at the glossy black wall across from me blankly. I just do not . . .
feel . . .
anything . . .
I have not for a while, other than the thrill I get when killing. Or sometimes, when the anger and agony that is my life when it all gets too much seeps through me, corrupting my numbness and making my skin itch like thousands of insects are upon it.
At least, that is how it was before.
Before I met them.
Now I can feel.
Sometimes, as much as I hate to admit it, I can feel quite a bit.
And the odd part is, it is not always bad.
In fact, it is more commonly not bad. I have only been convincing myself the feelings were because it was better than acknowledging the fact I have been blind my entire life.
In denial my entire life. But I cannot keep ignoring what is right in front of me:
Those men are not bad men.
My father is.
I have always known that, of course, but now it hurts worse than usual. It is hard to numb the pain these days when I have experienced better . . . more.
That never should have happened.
I despise those good feelings I occasionally process when I am around those Evots. They do not feel right. And yet . . . I find myself wanting more.
I do not understand . . . why. Why I have been shown more if I cannot have it.
It is not as though I expect the world to be fair or make sense.
Not at all. I do not believe in higher powers, either.
There is nothing and no one out there to save you no matter how hard you try to get their attention.
But usually, if I want something, I take it.
There is never any obstacles, and if there are, I obliterate them.
But these Evots . . . Do I want them?
No. That is preposterous.
But why do I feel different when I am with them, when I feel what they feel and hear what they hear when they think of me?
If I were not currently so absent, I might experience my mind gearing up to explode from all these thoughts.
So it is a good thing I am, because the last time that happened, when my thoughts made my head spin and crushed me to the breaking point, I jumped off a fifty-story building.
The very one I am in right now, in fact: the home to the Techtis Council.
A home of horrors.
Rustling behind me and the tightening of my father’s arm alerts me to the fact he is awake and simultaneously yanks me back to the present as my fight-or-flight mode is activated, reality and adrenaline pumping through me as my mind switches its lights back on.
The harsh bristles of his beard rub sickeningly across my cheek as he leans over me, pressing a firm kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Morning, my dearest.”
“Morning, Father,” I reply like a solider, eyes still on the wall.
His tone darkens in an instant, voice growing rougher as his hand firmly grips my jaw and yanks my face his way. “You look at me when I am speaking to you, Daughter. It is basic manners. I deserve respect, do I not?”
No.
“Yes, Father.”
His eyes scan over every little millimetre of my face.
“You are beautiful, you know that?” he murmurs, and vomit attempts to crawl up my oesophagus, before he continues, “But only to me. This pretty little face is mine. No one will ever see it but me—no one would want to. They would only see this . . .” His thumb rubs over my least favourite part of me, the part he put there.
“And they would think it was hideous. But not me.”
I fight to keep my jaw relaxed, to make sure I do not tense it, or better yet, bite his motherfucking hand off.
“You have not shown those Evots”—his nose scrunches in disgust on the social classification—“this face, have you?”
“Of course not. I would not want them to see.”
Truth.
“Good girl. You are not allowed. I forbid you. I will love you more if you behave for me.” He finally lets me go after another hard kiss to my head, and I avert my gaze from all that abhorrent bare skin as he gets up and walks over to the bathroom. “You are free to go, Ezla.”
At those words, I do not hang around for a second longer, a decision solidifying in my mind that I know will not only change my life. But everyone’s.