Chapter 49
Shay-Lee
“O h, thank God, you’re here,” Soren sighed with relief as he entered the small room I was currently in.
He was the first person I called after the security staff let me go.
“Yeah, thanks for coming on such short notice.”
“Of course.” He brushed his dark hair back and fixed his glasses. “Are you okay?” he asked, stopping by the bed I was sitting on.
“Yeah, I am.” My eyes focused on my thigh. I wore pants now so Soren couldn’t see the bandage, but earlier, I got a few stitches to the small stab wound. “I was rather lucky. After I explained everything, the security guards let me go with a warning and a fine to pay for that gate I broke. Then, I got treated here for some minor injuries.”
Soren’s brows drew close. “So there’s no need for me to talk to anyone?”
His concern touched me and was almost enough to make me feel better.
“No, it’s all good,” I said, although we did need to come up with a story for how Camilo got injured, but that could wait for later. “How is he? ”
During our short phone call, I told Soren about Camilo and asked him to check on him first before coming to me.
“He’s still in surgery, Shay-Lee. They’re working hard to stop the bleeding.”
My heart paused. “Bleeding?”
“Internal bleeding.” He sighed before meeting my scared look. “They’re fighting for his life.”
Soren’s words wrenched at my gut because a naive part of me hoped that by the time I was done here, Camilo would already be stabilized and out of danger. And while I knew nothing about medicine, I knew surgeries didn’t work like that and that they took time. The head operation I had five years ago took hours, and later on, I was in a coma for weeks. The mere thought that I’d have to wait so long for Camilo to wake up turned my body ice-cold, and scared, I looked down at the floor. My fists curled at my sides when I suddenly remembered something and slipped my hand into my pocket.
“What’s that?” Soren asked when I pulled out my necklace.
“A promise.”
“What?”
Clutching the necklace in my fist, I brought it close to my heart.
This is our promise to live a life together. A long, full, happy life.
“I have to go, but I’ll be back, okay?”
Soren’s confusion grew stronger as more creases formed around his eyes. “You have to go? Where? Diesel is still in surgery—”
“He’ll be okay.”
Because he has to be.
“Shay-Lee, you’re not making any sense.”
And while Soren continued to argue that I should stay here, I remembered I didn’t have shit on me—not my phone, wallet, not even a single dollar bill.
“I need to borrow some money.”
“What?” He scowled, holding his hands up, after I reached to search his pockets.
“Shay-Lee, please— ”
Finding his wallet in the right pocket of his trousers, I pulled it out, fumbled inside, and took out a hundred. It should be enough, right?
“Shay-Lee, would you please explain what on earth has gotten into you?” Soren’s voice was tight with nerves, very unlike him.
“I promise to pay it back soon.” I pushed the wallet back into his hand and turned around when he grabbed my arm.
“I’m not letting you out of this room,” he announced.
I focused on his hand, which clung to me for dear life, before I looked up to meet his fearful eyes.
“Everything will be fine, Soren.” My lips pulled into a smile. “I know it will, but for now, I really have to go somewhere, so please—” I removed his hand from me. “—I’ll catch you later.” I didn’t wait for a response, nor did I provide him with any more explanations before I got out of the room and out of the hospital. Without a phone or a wallet, the money I borrowed from Soren was my only means to get there . I chewed on my lower lip, wondering one last time if this was a smart idea, when I realized it was the only option.
“Taxi!” I called, my hand raised up and my heart set on one goal:
To put this monster to sleep.
Once and for all.
The driver dropped me off a few miles away from my destination, like I’d asked him to. If things went south, I thought it would be wiser to cover up my tracks. The sun was already starting to set as I climbed the road going uphill, and to warm up, I shoved my hands into my pockets and kept my arms close to my body. It wasn’t cold, per se, but it had been a rough forty-eight hours, and I was damn tired, enough for my body to shiver with the slightest blow of wind.
After walking for about an hour, the trees around me started to look familiar, enough to make my heart race a bit faster. I chewed on my lower lip, reminding myself that I couldn’t back down, not after getting this far. Without stopping, I went ahead until reaching the front gate. Outside of it, Jordan’s car was parked. That was probably how he’d gotten here yesterday, and thankfully, he’d left the keys inside.
Good, I have a ride out of here.
The code to the front gate was still the same, and I typed it in, my heart pounding fast with each digit until it opened. The walk from the gate to the main house took some time because of the distance. My father was a private man, as his crimes demanded him to be, so he’d built his mansion as far away as possible from the outside world. Built on the edge of a cliff, looking over the threatening ocean and hidden behind tall trees, this house felt like it belonged to another universe. Sometimes, that was exactly what this place was—an asylum for his monstrosity. A hell upon Earth where my father was both the god and the devil.
Not anymore.
Now, as I stood tall on the outskirts of my past, I felt no fear. What burned inside me wasn’t revenge, either, but the courage to put everything behind me and embark on a new path that wouldn’t include my father in its trails.
When Oro brought me here only yesterday, I wasn’t as brave. But between now and then, a lifetime had passed, and with Camilo currently fighting for his life, I had no room for fear or self-doubt. This, right now , was my time to end the hell my father forced on me from the day I was born and to start living the life I deserved. The life Camilo and I deserve . But what I realized, a little too late, was that as long as I carried my father’s shadow with me, this dream of a life would never turn into a reality. It was funny to think that so much blood had to be shed before I understood that even though my father was dead, he still lived inside me, and only because I kept him alive. And with the amount of space he took up, there was very little room left for Camilo, and to that I said:
Not anymore.
With my head held high, I climbed the steps leading to the house and opened the front door. A dark space welcomed me, reminding my body of the hell it had gone through between those walls. Not allowing those memories to stop me, I walked inside the house. The mess Oro left behind him was still there, so I first cleaned it up: put the chairs he tied us to back in place, threw the used ropes away, and cleaned some of the blood off the floors. Once I was done, the house returned to the museum of horror I always saw it as, with its clean floors and gray walls, all designed to perfection to cover up the cracks of my damaged family.
The need to see more of this place was like an itch that needed to be scratched, so I scratched it. First, I went to our gym. The treadmill my father used to run on was still there, as were the weight racks he once threw me on. Closing my eyes, I could almost hear the treadmill creaking beneath my father’s steps, a nerve-racking sound that made my heart go faster and my chest turn tighter. But once I blinked my eyes open to gaze at an empty room, I realized it was all just the product of a poisoned mind.
Next, I visited his office. The large desk still stood in the middle of the room, filling in my father’s missing presence. Fisting the white cloth covering it, I pulled it off to reveal the dark wood hiding underneath. I smoothed my hand over the surface, ignoring the dust that coated it, before moving on to the room’s east wall, which had shelves full of my father’s expensive liquor collection. He wasn’t a drunk; in fact, he didn’t drink much at all, but like all things in his life, he loved bragging about his wealth. When I was younger, I used to steal a bottle here and there, only to spite him. It always ended the same way, with me beaten and bruised. And yet, the brief seconds I felt like I’d fooled him were worth the pain that followed. Because in those rare times, I was the one responsible for my punishment, unlike in most cases where he just hurt me for no reason. Gutted, I left his office and walked down the long hall leading to his room, only to skip it. Having no intention of reflecting on all the memories his bed carried, I went straight to my room.
With the shutters closed and no lights coming from the outside, it stood completely dark. My hand already knew where the light switch was, so without even looking, I flicked on the lights and stepped in. I glanced at the en suite bathroom, ready for the lights there to turn on, too, but they didn’t. Sometimes, Orson loved lurking in there and waiting for me, but not anymore, as the bastard was dead . By now, I bet he was nothing but a skeleton rotting in the ground, feeding worms and bugs. My lips curled with the thought, and pleased, I walked into my room until I reached the bed. Turning around, I then flopped back on the mattress. With my arms stretched to my sides, I stared at the tall ceiling, thinking how, in the end, I was the last man standing. My dad, Orson, Oro, all those fuckers who’d tried to hurt me ended up dead . Truth was, it shocked me to be alive since I never thought I’d live this long. Growing up, I always assumed that my dad would kill me one day, and if not, then I’d just do it myself. Thank fuck neither of those things happened because life was fucking beautiful. So beautiful, like that night I took Camilo dancing. But it wasn’t just that one evening that made me see life as worthy but everything we did together. Our lazy mornings, where he refused to get out of bed. Our arguments and fights. The lunches we shared in the middle of the day. The touch of the wind when I sat on the back of his motorcycle and the warmth of his body when he hugged me close. Whether it was whispers of love, sex, hugs, soft caresses, or just moments of looking at each other without saying a word, all those seconds I shared with Camilo made life worth living, and I wouldn’t give up on it, not for anything in this world. And especially, not for him, for my father, who was nothing but a terrible memory.
I’d outgrown this bed that once felt too big and had no more fear in my heart. As I lay here, I knew Camilo was out there, waiting for me to return to him. He might be in surgery, but I knew my man was a fighter, a survivor, who promised never to leave me again.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before getting up. Camilo would have to wait a bit longer for me because I still had work to do here. Determined, I returned to my father’s office and picked up a twenty-year-old whiskey from the shelf. The bottle was heavy, and I tossed it lightly in my hand, remembering how my dad used to savor the taste of a good scotch. He always cleared his throat after a sip, then licked his lips. My body spiked with rage just thinking about it, and I threw the bottle against the wall. The glass shattered, liquor spilling everywhere, and I was already reaching for another bottle.
“I wish you had choked on this stupid shit!” I screamed, the roar coming from the pit of my stomach with all the anger I had building up for years, before I shattered the bottle on the floor.
I heaved like a beast, looking at the broken glass and spilled liquid that stained the room. It felt… good . Quickly, I reached for two more bottles and raised my hands up.
“This is for Mom, you son of a bitch!” I threw the bottle over his desk, enjoying how it clashed against the expensive wood, leaving a dent. “And this is… This is for Camilo!” I smashed the bottle, my blood boiling over what he did to us. Furious, I turned around to face the shelves, my muscles tensing and my skin burning, when one bottle caught my eye. It was a rather new bottle, one he’d gotten as a gift after what happened to me. Some old business partner of his had come to the hospital to pay me a visit, and he brought this bourbon with him. My father thanked that man, telling him he hoped justice would be served. Ha! They even shook hands on it.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
Picking the bottle from the shelf, I carefully held it in my hands as I read the label. Funny, it was made the year I was born. I didn’t smash it, even though I wanted to, and instead brought it with me to the kitchen. I took a corkscrew from the utensil drawer and carefully used it to open the bottle before putting it back in place. But before closing the drawer, I picked up one more thing and slipped it in my pocket, then walked out of the kitchen. Behind me, I left a trail of fine bourbon, spilling it all over the floors, furniture, and walls. Once done, I put the bottle back in place and returned to the kitchen. I disconnected the gas tube leading to the stoves and stepped out .
Surprisingly, I was completely calm as I walked to the front door. More than that. I felt on the brink of freedom. Finally ready to end this hell, I turned around and took one last glance at a place that used to make me so hopeless, only to realize it was nothing but a house. And it, too, could be burned to the fucking ground.
I reached for my pants and pulled out the matchbox I’d slipped into my pocket earlier. Taking one match out, I quickly dragged it along the striker until it caught fire. My eyes focused on the lit match, thinking how one should never underestimate such a small flame, as it could be the start of a huge fire.
“This goodbye was due for a long time, Dad. I hope you burn in hell.” I threw the match onto the trail of booze I left on the floor. The flammable liquid immediately caught fire, and I watched in awe as the flames spread. It was beautiful, utterly majestic, like a snake twisting and winding through the dark. The fire moved along the floors, slowly spreading around, consuming everything in its way. It was funny how beautiful yet deadly fire was. When you looked at it, as I did now, all you wanted was to grab a flame in your palm. Its colors were beautiful, and its warmth tempting, yet fire kills. It consumes and burns, leaving disaster behind it.
Same as me.
I was the fire, and Camilo was my fuel— my Diesel . Unlike others, he never burned under my love and only turned it greater, stronger, bigger. Our love was absurdly perfect—something only we could understand. It wasn’t the kind of love that healed or cured; it was one that consumed and devoured. The kind of blaze that swallowed the world whole, leaving nothing behind but its sins. And while no amount of time could restore the parts of us we had lost, with Camilo, it simply didn’t matter. Nothing did . Because what was the cold touch of the past compared to the fire of his love? His very existence burned in my veins, reviving my heart that had long since died out. In the end, nothing would ever come close to this feeling of complicity in being with him.
My skin ached from the blaze as my eyes painted with the colors of the flames until smoke started filling the room. At this stage, I had to step outside. With the fire raging inside the house, I closed the door behind me and walked into the driveway. A loud explosion came from inside, and I assumed it was due to the gas leak. Turning around, I watched with satisfaction as the whole place went up in flames, my heart melting at the sight.
With my fists curled at my sides, I stood there in the dark night and watched my father’s funeral take place. Four years ago, he died alone, like a nameless man, with no grave or shred of respect. Despite his enormous efforts, in the end, he was forgotten from this world and would not be remembered. This, right now, was where I said my goodbye to him, and while I’d forever carry the scars he’d left on my skin and soul, I also knew he would no longer be a part of my life.
Any sadness I might have felt over his loss in the past few years was as good as gone. And now, with my head held high, I was ready for the future awaiting us. A sense of peace that settled in my heart was my sign to leave, so I did. Without looking back, I walked out of there, leaving this place to fade into smoke. I got into Jordan’s car and drove for a while before parking it a few miles away. I sat inside it for almost an hour until I saw fire trucks racing up the roads leading to the house. Hopefully, I didn’t leave tracks behind to connect this fire to me, and even if I had, I’d find a way out of it, as nothing would stop me now, not even the man I was going to see next. Yes, Camilo was waiting for me in the hospital, but first, I had to make sure nothing would stand in our way ever again.