Chapter Twenty-one
Rowan
I make busy work around the gym, bidding my time until Weeks is focused on something other than me.
He keeps looking over my way, and each time I catch him, he reverts his eyes, and honestly all I can do is smile.
I know Luca has him watching my every step.
I’d find it comical if it weren’t me he was babysitting.
When I got here, I was hoping Damian would be here, but apparently, he and Soleil are gone.
We’ve messaged here and there, sporadically, but I wanted to see him with my own two eyes, to make sure he’s good.
I know Soleil is now staying with him, and that truly makes my heart so happy.
I just hope they can both overcome whatever they need to.
I know she has her own demons, but I know Damian isn’t afraid to slay them for her.
After an hour, Weeks gets further away from my eye site, but I still busy myself, taking inventory and checking emails, wanting him to think all is okay.
I see him entering the office on the small TV at the reception desk, but I still wait, making sure he’s settled in. Through the screen, I watch as he opens the laptop, and finally, that’s my cue.
I leave the computer on and my phone sitting next to it, so if he comes out, I’m hoping he’ll think maybe I’m in the restroom, because why would I leave without my cell phone? Reaching into my purse hanging on the back of the chair, I take my wallet and keys, exiting the gym without looking back.
Jumping in the car, I start it and take off, knowing my time is now ticking with the long drive ahead of me.
“Luca is going to kill you,” I speak to myself in the quiet car. Needing noise, I turn on the radio, and Perfume and Milk by Florence and The Machine plays through my speakers. Getting lost in her musical poetry. Lulled into calmness as I followed the curvy road to my soon-to-be redemption.
I’m finally forced to stop to fill the tank two hours in.
My first instinct when I stop is to grab my phone and check it, but it’s back at the gym.
Breathing in deeply, I get out, pulling my cardigan tightly around me as I pump the gas, filling my tank until it won’t take any more.
The need to use the restroom is prevalent, but I can’t lose any more time.
“Just hold it,” I whisper to myself. Thankful no one is around to see me speaking to myself.
Entering the city limits, I watch the welcome sign out the window, knowing this town doesn’t want to welcome anything I’m going to bring to it.
I park in the local grocery store parking lot, deciding to walk the rest of the way to David's. I want to look around his house, and having an unusual car parked with a girl getting out of it is a red flag, screaming that I don’t belong there.
I rifle through the trunk until I find what I’m looking for, Luca’s hat—as I push my hair into a messy bun, placing the hat over it, I take off walking, smiling when I feel my knife in the cardigan pocket, Thomas’ gift.
The walk feels like it takes forever, but I know it only takes about fifteen minutes.
Turning the corner on his street, it’s dead.
Everyone is still sleeping off the day before, even though it’s past three in the afternoon.
I’m able to walk down the broken sidewalk with no interference.
The weirdness of hearing no birds chirping or seeing anything alive prowling is unnerving.
Approaching David's house, I walk past and pause between his home and the dilapidated house next to it, maneuvering between them to remain unseen.
Random trash is strewn all over the overgrown grass. I peek through the window; thankfully, the blinds are broken, allowing me to see inside. It’s a bedroom with only a bare mattress on the floor, with scattered random objects. Other than that, it’s empty.
I can’t walk to the front of the house, so I decided to go through the backyard.
The metal-wired fence is broken and almost lying flat on the ground, allowing me to step over and enter the backyard easily, but I stop immediately as a tent greets me.
My eyes scan the rest of the backyard, but other than the tent, it’s all clear.
Hastening my steps to the back door, it's barely shut and seems ready to fall off its hinges.
Closing my eyes, I timidly push it open, stopping as it whines in protest.
“Fuck.” Deciding I’m already in to win it, I push it the rest of the way, my shoulders rising with the noise.
Entering the house, the smell assaults me.
A mixture of cigarette smoke, dust, and uncleanness.
It’s revolting. As sunlight filters into the kitchen, I see roaches scurrying from the countertops, their mission interrupted.
‘I’m on my own mission, you little fuckers.
’ I silently tell them as if they can read my mind.
I don’t shut the door behind me, in case I need a quick escape, but also, I don’t want to make any more noise than I already have.
I creep across the floor, my shoes unstick with each step.
My eyes pan around, and I’m not surprised this is the way he lives.
We are speaking of a man who gave his daughter to the devil themselves.
He is the lowest of the low. I mind my footing as I make my way through the house, exiting the kitchen and into the living room.
And it’s no better than the kitchen behind me.
Needles and beer cans litter the floor; ashtrays are piled with ashes and cigarettes.
My nose scrunches up at the smell. Trying not to breathe in too deeply, not wanting to fill my lungs with this filth.
Slowly making my way to the back of the house, a built-in shelf catches my eye.
It’s littered with random things, but it's the picture half-heartedly placed in the corner of the shelf that catches my attention. I’m drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
With each step closer, my heart slows down.
It’s just a picture, but as I hold it, it feels like it weighs my hand down.
My finger rubs the tiny face that’s forever captured in time, on it, the dust spreading as I do.
I couldn’t have been more than five years old in it, sitting on a chair.
Looking more closely, after removing all the dust, I'm confused. I don’t recognize the place I’m at.
It doesn’t jog any memories. I see what looks like an enormous chandelier hanging above and a staircase to the side, but I don’t recognize it.
Pocketing the picture, I force myself to finish searching the house, but not before taking out my knife, unsheathing it.
With a deep breath, I turn and enter the dark hallway; by the layout, I know that the room in front of me is the room on the side of the house with just the mattress.
Forgoing that room, I tiptoe to the next door.
It’s already cracked, and I peer inside; a bathroom greets me.
Ignoring it, I straighten up and head to the next door.
My hands shake as I reach for the knob and softly twist it.
You could hear a pin drop in this house; the quietness is unnerving.
At a snail's pace, inch by inch, I open the door; my eyes fall on the figure lying on the floor. I stop, and my hand is still on the turned doorknob, scared that if I let go, it’ll make a noise.
I know before I even see the person fully, it’s David.
Closing my eyes, face squished, I let my hand move with the doorknob to place it back in the right position. ‘Please don’t make a noise.’
Once my hand is freed from it, I still don’t move.
I just stand there, watching him, the knife in my other hand shaking.
I could end this all right now, at this very moment.
But I’m not ready to. I have to be smart with this.
I need answers, and I need him to know what’s coming.
He doesn’t get a free pass… I fucking didn’t.
Stepping backward out of the room, I don’t turn around until I’m standing by the living room, eyes never leaving his door, knife straight out.
Swallowing isn’t possible with how dry my throat is.
I watch my steps but hurry around the living room until I find what I’m looking for—a torn piece of paper and a pencil.
I scribble on it; the lead pierces through the scrap as I hastily write.
An eye for an eye
To be theatrical, I take a used needle and stab the paper with it, pinning it to the threadbare sofa. Taking another quick glance around me, I spot lipstick on the table. My eyebrows raise. I don’t know why any woman would want to be in this house.
I didn’t leave the way I had come. Instead, I exit out of the front door, slamming it on my way out, taking off at full speed. Knife still in hand. I don’t look back as I turn down the street, my lungs screaming, feeling like they’re on fire.
I run until I make it back to my car, falling at the side of the door, my legs numb and my chest hurting. Only then do I re-sheath my knife and feel like I’m okay to take a moment.
The ride back feels like it takes forever. I keep looking at the picture that now lies on my passenger seat. My hands shake uncontrollably, my anxiety spiked, forcing me to pull over an hour in. And that’s when I let the dam break. As the fear seeps in, the anger boils over.
“You should have just killed him, Rowan,” I berate myself.
I place my head on the steering wheel, trying to calm myself down.
I hate the person I have become, the one they have turned me into.
Luca helped me find her again, but still so much of me is missing, so much.
And it’s because of him. It’s all because of him.
He could have been a real father and just loved me and protected me, but he did the complete opposite.
He served me up on a silver fucking dish to them all.
Does he even know what they did, what they had planned for me?
Did he even care? And I know I won’t get that Rowan back I was before, but maybe I can get closer to who I was. Maybe?
I feel broken inside, deep down where light doesn’t touch. Can I truly give Luca all of me when I can’t even find her? That isn’t fair; he deserves so much more than a broken woman.
The tears come down like sheets of rain, never running out, I feel like. My body shakes with tremors. My heart breaks with the realization I just made. He deserves better. Better than me.