6 #3
If he could see it, I am sure he would find humour in my expression, because I truly cannot keep the incredulity from it as I try to understand on what planet he would think it was a good idea to expose this to me when all he would be doing is aiding me in my plotting against him.
Unless he realised how obvious his slip-up was when he was trying to keep his composure intact as he built my cage the other day, so he already knew I was aware, and his ego was bruised, encouraging him to act as if it was the plan all along to share the information?
That can only be described as underwhelming, if so.
He continues, “I know you would have figured that out soon enough.” It seems I was not too far off.
As I said, very underwhelming. “I know you, Ezla, and you are exceptionally smart.” What is he doing now?
Trying to appeal to me with compliments?
“And I can see you are truly obeying me. I am extremely proud of you.”
My nose wrinkles, and his voice drops to an even quieter volume, his vile mouth moving closer to where my ear would be behind the taalk concealing it. “Already, some of your Bonds have turned on you. I know you must see . . . you must see who they truly are. That they were never good for you.”
Father is delusional. That is nothing new, but it seems he is starting to slip further and further from sanity as the days pass by.
I do not know whether he believes I am truly giving in to him, or if it is the opposite and the hint of eager urgency in his tone is due to a rising desperation to finally get me where he wants me before it is too late.
“And I am sure Players 4, 35, and 29 will get there eventually, too. You simply have to keep doing what I see you do daily. They will eventually fall out of love, I am sure.”
Something in me recoils.
They will eventually fall out of love, I am sure.
I . . . It is less than a second before I realise I do not want that.
Where I once would have found relief in the idea of no one loving me, I find I do not like the idea so much—at all—when it comes to those five men.
I . . . I do not want to stop experiencing that feeling from my Bonds.
It is one of the few good things I have ever felt in my disaster of a life.
I am starting to understand their love is the real version of it, and I do not want to lose that.
But what if Father is right? Do people in love treat each other the way I have treated my men?
I do not think so.
My current behaviour with them may be an act, but it is not too far from how I have treated them even when not pretending they mean absolutely nothing to me. It is not in my nature to be . . . nice.
Now that I think about it, I wonder why they would ever want me in the first place, let alone love me. Would they not prefer someone kinder? More gentle?
Jealousy takes me over completely, and every particle that makes me up vibrates erratically. There is no warning, and it comes with a rage to rival the likes of an earthquake.
They are mine. I will not let them leave me. I would like to see them try.
My nostrils flare, and I pant, working to control the fine tremble in my fists that I unclench slowly when I take note of the fact they have balled involuntarily.
When Father pulls back, he is not quite fast enough to cover up the uptick of his lips.
The tumult within me glitches, trips over itself, then comes to a screeching halt.
He . . .
Mind games.
He is playing mind games with me.
When do I ever doubt myself? I am perfectly happy with who I am, and I know that despite many of my men questioning their moral compasses because of their feelings for me, they are more than happy with who I am, too.
Yet father is attempting to make me doubt both myself and them, and it is disgraceful that he even got as far as he did.
But if that is how he wants to play it . . .
“Yes. I do believe they will.” I keep my voice mostly at its default, possessing a dominant unfeeling quality, but I allow a hint of the tremor in me caused by my fury to slip in there, feeding it to him subtly as though it is instead pain that I could not completely conceal.
It is lucky he is so daft sometimes, because his hand comes up to cup the side of my helmet, and his features soften.
I do find it exceedingly difficult to keep all my creative punishments inside as he says gently, “But you know I could never. I will always love you, Ezla. No matter what. I have never hidden who I truly am from you—not like they have. You are now seeing how they do not suit you, how they do not really love your darkness as I do, how unaccepting they are . . . yes? You see?” His dull brown eyes are almost imploring.
I deliberately hesitate, then ensure the words sound forced and stiff, like the admission is reluctant, as I reply, “I am starting to.”
“Yes . . . yes, and I will help you through it when things inevitably fall apart.” Arms wrapping around me, he pulls me into a fatherly hug, one I am sure the scientists stealing glances at us believe is completely innocent and just that: fatherly.
And I allow them to believe that as I willingly sink into the monster before me.