Chapter Thirty-Three
Alana
After dismissing myself for a swift shower, Candace promises to stay close and drink lots of coffee while waiting for my return. It’s exactly what I would do, and despite all my worries and fears over Damion’s early, and rather secretive departure, I leave the room with a quirk of my lips that almost becomes a smile.
Soon after, warm water bordering on boiling, soothes the ache of my naked body, the hours of holding myself rigid inside the darkness of the concrete prison, ripe within my muscles and incessantly present. In an effort to draw on something beautiful, not cold and cavernous, I splurge and indulge in the use of the jasmine shampoo and conditioner gifted to me by a sponsor. I love the floral sweetness and luxuriousness of the products, but I barely dare use them as they’re wildly expensive. It had been impossible to afford such opulence when I’d been supporting my family. A roar fills my ears, my heartbeat throbbing in my temples.
There’s no more financial strain, no more demands.
My father is dead.
My mother is wicked and I swear by all that I am, on her own from this point forward.
But, oh, how I’d like to call her and suggest she join me for the interview. She could then explain to the world why we should believe that her lover didn’t kill my father. Maybe she knew. Maybe the gambling got to her, and she wanted my father gone—wanted the life insurance. And surely, she would have believed a car accident looked innocent.
I stand there under the soothing heat of a hot shower, flashes of her at the cemetery standing with Damion’s father flitting through my mind; cutting me to the point that it feels as if I’m bleeding out, the water failing to wash away the blood that will never be enough for Damion’s father. He’s a monster who shreds lives without remorse, even that of his son. He deserves to pay for his sins, and I have been granted a platform to scream his sins from rooftops and beyond, to drive him into a hole. But the truth is, as the cobwebs of grief clear and the events of the past few days play in my thoughts, I’m not sure I’ve anywhere near defeated the beast that is that man. All I did by attacking him publicly was stir his anger and earn punishment for it.
What if I do this interview this afternoon and he comes at me and Damion harder? What if he hurts my mother to punish me? Though she might have earned such a fate, I believe in the end her punishment will be of her own making—a desolate life—unless I drive him to push her into a grave next to my father. Bile rises in my throat, and I turn off the water as the shower transforms into a tiny box without air. I step out onto the mat and quickly dry off, scrubbing my mind of my worry for just a few moments, using the silence to seal away the panic and find a calmer place.
With Candace waiting on me, I run through my hair and rush through my make-up routine at a sprinter’s pace, all before I ever discard my towel. Since I’m not due to the studio for hours, I opt for a fresh pair of black leggings and a T-shirt, as well as red Adidas sneakers.
Candace is not only waiting on me as promised, she holds up what appears to be a pastry box. “I made one of the Walker guys go get us pastries. You’ll find they really are superheroes, able to beat off the bad guys and run errands that include sweet treats.”
I laugh, genuinely laugh, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I like her, I really do. The woman is stunningly beautiful, sunshine splaying her happy light all about our apartment. She’s also dared to open up to me, to share intimate details of her struggle to her happily ever after with Savage, which is far more like mine with Damion than I ever imagined possible. She and Savage fought a lifetime to be together, divided by family, by the demons haunting Savage. Her story offers me hope that Damion and I can survive the battle and win the war.
That we can really build a life together. That my childhood dream of being his wife was not a dream at all. But a foretelling of the future, when I will marry my best friend.