Chapter 29
LILY
“Iwould like to speak with my daughter alone,” my father says, his eyes turning into narrow slits as he looks down on Lorenzo.
I cringe at his scathing expression yet find myself standing in front of Lorenzo, almost as if shielding him.
He might not be the greatest man with regard to his career choice, and he may not have much of a moral compass, but there’s a sincerity to Lorenzo that deserves to be protected.
Because despite those things, he’s the person who’s encouraged my freedom the most, and in a way that those who are already in my corner couldn’t.
My father doesn’t miss the movement, and it only causes his face to twist further in disdain.
“Come this way, Lorenzo. I’d love to show you my roses,” my mother says enthusiastically as she offers to lead him away.
My brother raises his eyebrows and pockets his hands as he precedes them out of the room.
Lorenzo is reluctant to leave my side, and I offer him a small smile to let him know I'll be okay and that I understand and appreciate his concern. I know this relationship is fake. That we’re not really together, and it’s all a facade, but the longer it goes on, the more I’m starting to believe it.
And the more I'm wanting to. It’s becoming dangerous that I can’t imagine my days without him.
We even decided to stay at his house, and for the first time in years, I took a "sick day," choosing to be railed within an inch of my life all over his house, instead of going into work.
“We won’t be too long,” I promise him.
I’ve thought about how this conversation might go; how I'll advocate to be liberated from my family's expectations. Even if I can’t have Lorenzo after all of this, I won’t let my father choose who I can and can't date.
“I’d like to have a word with you myself afterward, Henrith,” Lorenzo says, and my stomach drops, my courage faltering. The thought of these two men sharing the same room alone terrifies me.
My father says nothing in response, just turns and walks into the family room. The wooden floor is covered with a plush white rug in the center. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the afternoon sun, and a long couch and two armchairs surround a beautifully carved table.
“Close the doors behind you,” my father instructs. I do as he says, nervous when I look at the empty glass in his hand. He walks over to the half-empty bottle on the sideboard and fills his glass.
“You’ve humiliated this family. Are you aware of that?” he says with contempt. “Tell me how one simple date with a longtime family friend went so horribly wrong that he now wants nothing to do with me?” His eyes flash with anger as he takes a harsh swallow.
“Father, you need to let me choose who I date and marry. This pressure you’re putting on me lately is too much,” I reply, stepping into my power. It’s time I stood up to my father, for better or for worse. I’ve held on to this family for so long, and what have they done for me? Nothing.
I love my mother—would do anything for her—but the sad reality has been sinking in for a while now, that if she’s not willing to help herself, what can I do?
If anything, I’m only turning into her. Denying the truth of what’s in front of me.
Continuously breathing in the toxicity, and allowing my father to control me like some puppet.
It still terrifies me that he could cut me from the family, but I can’t live like this anymore.
I’ve crumbled down to nothing, having nothing else to give.
I’ll try to do everything I can to remain by her side, but I just can’t roll over, allow him to steal my choices and dictate my life anymore.
This constant abuse and control will never end.
My father is eerily quiet as he shakes his head manically, then refills his glass. My strength slowly starts to drain because I know nothing good comes when he’s drinking this much. But I think of Lorenzo, the courage and strength he would command in a situation like this.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve cost this family? Who raised you to be so selfish?”
My brow furrows as he verbally assaults me with all of his hatred.
I always wanted to convince myself that somewhere deep down, my father cared about me, but as I see him now, the same way I’ve seen him my whole life—with a bottle in his hand—I realize he's not much of a man or father at all.
He might be able to function around others, careful to never reveal his true colors to them, but for someone like me, who's been conditioned to answer his every command and whim, only poison remains.
Unfortunately, my father is no longer capable of love—if he ever was.
That saddens me for my mother, considering how she must feel in this loveless marriage.
But for once, I want to put myself first, acknowledging that at no point has this ever been okay.
“Come here,” my father demands, pointing to the spot in front of him.
My chest rises as I’m emboldened to say the one word I haven’t been daring enough to use until I met Lorenzo. “No.”
The glass halts at my father’s lips, and his scathing glare cuts to me.
A chill runs through me, and my body freezes in place.
I try to shake myself, to remind myself that I need to stand up to this man.
There’s no going back now. No matter how scared I am of being discarded, I might have to leave behind my mother because of it but I can’t let that guilt rule me anymore.
If only she’d listen to me. If only she’d follow me.
But I can no longer allow this man terrorize me as he does her.
I’m the child, am I not? I can’t keep treating her like she isn't an adult who can make her own choices. It’s her decision to stay, but it doesn’t take the hurt away as I not only let go of my father but also parts of her, knowing that after tonight, things will never be the same.
My father points toward the door. “What, you think because you bring in a caveman that you’re tough now?
” He takes a step toward me. “Did you really think I’d ever allow you to parade around with someone like him?
” he seethes in my face, spittle flying.
My jaw grinds as I fight against a lifetime of conditioning to remain quiet and take it.
“Who I do or don’t choose has nothing to do with you,” I say, rolling back my shoulders. “The choice is mine, as is the choice for me to leave.”
A dark bubble of laughter rises from him. “You think you can just leave this family?” He gulps down his drink, and my face twists in disgust, for the first time showing him what I really think of this unmasked version of him.
Repulsive.
Abusive.
Demeaning.
Cruel.
A sad man.
A pathetic man.
Rage rolls through him, as if he can hear all of these unsaid things. He grabs my elbow and shakes me.
“You stupid, ungrateful girl. Do you know how much trouble we’re in because you won’t simply do as you’re told?”
Trouble?
I try to tear my arm out of his grip. “Let me go,” I grit. “You don’t get to treat me like this anymore!” I yank myself free, realizing for the first time that I might be stronger than him.
I’m not that scared little girl anymore.
“You think you’re not my daughter anymore?” He steps back into my space. I push him away, and with twice as much force, his open palm strikes me across the face, and I fall to the floor. I’m so stunned and disoriented, it takes me a moment to realize he just struck me.
I’m forced back into memories of being a small child, being beaten or forced to watch my mother step in in my place.
Scissors being thrown at me and slicing down my back one night he went berserk.
My mother pulled me into another room, and we hid as she whispered to me that it would be okay.
My brother was at a friend’s that night, but it didn’t excuse him from the many episodes my father often had.
And the next day, pretending like nothing had ever happened.
He comes for me again, but this time I kick at his stomach, daring to push the monster away. He’s in a fit of rage as I stand, wobbling slightly as I check my ear. When I pull my shaking hand back, it's smeared with blood.
For the first time, it’s not fear that makes me tremble but anger. He’s nothing but a violent, angry man, a victim to his own demons and hatred that’s rotted him from the inside out.
A deep-rooted pain bubbles from my core to the surface, in mourning for the father I wanted him to be and the potential I hoped he was capable of.
Because this is all that’s left of him. And if it costs me the rest of my family to dig this toxicity out of my life, I’m finally willing to do it, no matter how terrifying.
His shouting comes in waves as he picks up the bottle by the neck and turns it upside down. The liquid pours onto the floor as he storms toward me, and that adrenaline quickly mixes with fear.
A fear that maybe this time he won’t stop.
My back hits the wall, and an avalanche of cold dread rushes over me, freezing me in place. I see the maddening hate, the desperation, the rage in his eyes.
The absence of a father, I always hoped he’d grow into, but never could.
I dodge the bottle as it swings toward my face, clipping my shoulder instead. Glass explodes beside me as I stumble to the side.
The doors burst open, and it's like everything slows down as Lorenzo sweeps across the room in two long strides. The moment I see him, relief washes through me, until I see the murderous intent in those eyes that I’ve become accustomed to crinkling in the corners when he smiles.
Now another monster has come into the arena, and I realize with startling clarity how small my father is compared to him.
Terror wraps around my neck like a noose, and I know without a doubt, he’s about to kill my father.
“Who let you in, you—” My father falls to the floor after the first punch, but Lorenzo grabs him by the shirt and punches him again and again, blood splattering the white plush carpet.
“Lorenzo!” I scream, grabbing for his elbow, but his strength is too much for me to hold him back.
My mother gasps from the doorway, where she gapes in horror at the scene. My brother stands beside her, staring, his eyes going wide as he takes it all in. How could they possibly attempt to intervene with a beast and his prey?
Or maybe they don’t want to. The dark thought cuts into my worry and fear.
This can’t be the way.
“Lorenzo! You’re going to kill him!” I scream, grabbing for him again.
“Please, don’t do this!” I beg as the wild mixture of emotions—grief, mourning, courage—tumultuously roll through my stomach.
I push down the bile that wants to rise, fighting against the one man in this room who is truly willing to defend me.
But right now, he’s willing to take too much away, and I can feel it fracturing us, breaking apart whatever we’ve built during our time together into a million pieces alongside my heart.
If I don’t stop this now, there’s no coming back from it.
Lorenzo tries to shake me off, but I hold firm. He doesn’t even hear me right now; his movements are more like a wild animal than the man I love.
The man I love.
The startling truth of that statement burns at my insides, and I become more desperate to stop him.
For my family.
For me.
For us.
I tug at him, praying I can calm the raging storm that’s his unleashed wrath.
“Please!” I sob as I get a glimpse of my father, who is a bloody mess against the once-white carpet, gurgling, trying to breathe.
“Please!” I say through tears. “He’s my dad!
” My voice breaks. The glint of Lorenzo’s gun catches my eye, and without thought, I steal it from his pocket and point it at his head.
Lorenzo’s fist freezes in the air as my father hangs from his shirt, bunched in Lorenzo's other hand. Blood mars my father's face and Lorenzo’s fists. Slowly, animalistically, Lorenzo looks over his shoulder, and it’s the first time I’ve seen the killer beneath directed at me.
He's more beast than man right now. My hands begin to shake as adrenaline courses through my veins.
But I know he’s still in there somewhere.
“Don’t make me do this,” I say, almost pleading for him to give me another choice. Don’t make me do this.
“He hit you,” Lorenzo growls with a sneer that makes him look even more the predator. The gun trembles in my hand as I’m made aware of the pounding on my face from where my father struck me. Tears spill over my cheeks, making it hard to see Lorenzo anymore.
“It’s okay,” I find myself saying, even when I know it’s not.
“It’s okay?” he scoffs. “Over my dead body.”
“Please!” I say before he lands another hit. “Lorenzo, please. He’s my family. Please.”
Time feels like it stops as we stare into one another’s eyes, a wordless conversation passing between us. Just raw, vulnerable emotion. And I pray and beg him to do as I ask… just this once.
I don’t even know why I’m begging for my father's life when he’s done nothing but hurt me. I was ready to leave him, not kill him. It’s all happening far too quickly to process.
Lorenzo shoves my father to the floor. “He doesn't deserve mercy,” he spits at my father, who’s barely moving but still breathing. Lorenzo grabs my hand and pulls the gun away, relief washing through me.
My brother holds my mother’s shoulders as he moves them to the side of the door, giving us a wide berth.
I made the decision to leave my father and his antics behind, but stepping out of that room with Lorenzo doesn’t feel right. But I know if I don’t leave with him, he won’t leave at all. I can feel the roiling rage beneath the surface, and it terrifies me.
I’m not scared of him, but of how he loses himself to his own demon.
I feel like a traitor as I leave my father gurgling on the floor behind us.
Regret and guilt flood me as I hear my mother cry out my father’s name as she runs into the room, and it pains me to know that even when his monster is on full display, she’ll run to his side.
Or perhaps she’s too scared not to when the job hasn’t been finished.
Did she linger at the door, in shock like me, because she was too scared to interfere with her chance at a way out?
At a different life? Does my mother actually love my father?
I was certain my father wouldn’t stop this time, and as I stare at the back of Lorenzo’s wide shoulders, I can’t help but think what I might’ve done had he not stepped in.
Would I have run away or fought?
Either way, I’d be at peace because it was my choice.
Right now, though, I’m feeling anything but peaceful.