Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
My hands tremble as I walk out and to my apartment. He can’t know. Why would he say that name? My head is spinning; not even my brother knows that secret. That is my secret. One I thought would never come to light.
I turn, shutting my door only for a hand to shove it inward. I take a step back as Latham forces his way inside my apartment. I can see his lips moving. I know he is speaking, yet I have gone numb and deaf to my surroundings as I stare horrified at him.
My entire world crumbles around me as I fight against the memories that are being dug up, the memories of that night: The sound of sirens filling my ears, the sound of shattered glass, and the helplessness as I realized what I did to her, the panic that consumed me, their anger that left my finger trembling over the trigger.
It wasn’t meant to go down like that. I just wanted to leave. I wanted to be free. I wanted the medications to stop. I wanted them to believe me. I wanted them to see him, but they never did. It wasn’t my imagination; it couldn’t be.
Latham moves closer as panic wraps around me, enveloping everything as I try to remember how to breathe.
That damn place, that damn night. He did this to me, and I stopped it, but she was never meant to get hurt.
I can feel myself falling, my lungs screaming at me to breathe, but I am hollow, a cold dread sweeping over me, and I see the coffee table moving toward me at an alarming speed, the corner of it hitting my face, yet I feel nothing as I plunge into darkness.
Drowning in it, drowning in the pain of that day, the day I ruined all our lives running through my head as I relive every moment of it.
* * *
Flashback
I am standing in the hallway listening while my parents argue.
If anyone had dug into their past, they would have realized instantly who they truly were.
My father used to be one of the biggest crime bosses in the city.
He dabbled in everything until the law caught up with him.
We moved and changed our identities; Isobella and I got to keep our first names, but that was it.
Not even Brian kept his. Our parents' names were changed, as were our last names.
We were placed into witness protection to protect us from the men my father had given up to save his own skin.
Yet my father was not a man who could work a law-abiding job; he knew how to make money fast, and that was dealing in drugs and weapons.
My brother was eighteen at the time and worked with my father in our new city, our new home.
My father was allowed to keep all his illegal and dirty money in exchange for information, and they provided us with new names.
My father bought our house by the sea. He had been slowly renovating the backyard, but money was running out, and he was used to his life of luxury.
I could hear the trucks leaving as they poured the last of the concrete.
The air was hot and dry beside the cool sea breeze that came in through the open windows.
He was in charge of imports and exports and worked a lot, flying in and out, and so did Brian, who was away for negotiations to step back into the business.
My father’s stupidity had his past found out quickly by those searching for him.
I would never meet his expectations. I was a burden for him.
He loved me, but I wasn’t worth the trouble.
I wasn’t his perfect daughter like Isobella.
I wasn’t Brian, who blindly did whatever my father suggested.
No, I was the crazy one. The unhinged and unstable.
Only I wasn't. I knew it wasn’t some trick of my mind, I begged them to listen, but they just kept pumping me full of drugs, sedating me, and caging me further in my mind.
“She is fourteen. She is our daughter. Why would you make a deal like that?” my mothers spits at my father, completely unaware I can hear everything from my spot in the hallway.
My mother is banging dishes loudly as she washes up, and she is angry.
“I had no choice. He said he would look after her. He is not a bad man. Brian had already made the deal, and he agreed. He needs our contacts over here for this to work, but he can’t look weak. We had to give him something,” my father argues.
“She isn’t something; she is someone. You say that like you didn’t just betray him, and you think he will look after her? He will destroy her more,” she snaps at him.
“He was able to get out of it. He paid the Russians to take the fall for it, no harm done. We need this. I can’t keep living like this, scraping change together to make ends meet.
This is the only way for things to go back to the way they were, to who we were.
” “She is our fucking daughter! I don’t give a crap how crazy she is.
I gave birth to her. I love her. How could you sell your own flesh and blood so easily?
” my mother spits at him, and I cover my mouth, shocked at what I am hearing.
“His son isn’t much older than her. They will look after her and get her the help she needs.
These fucking meds you have her on are fucking expensive.
We can’t afford the help she needs, love.
This is a good thing, and I can get my foot back in the door.
The shipment arrives next week, and everything will go back to how it was.
I can’t say no. He has already paid me a large sum for my cooperation. ”
“Yes, let's just go back to normal, but with one less child, right? Just forget she existed. What will Isobella say about this? She will fucking hate you. Arabella will never forgive you.”
“Arabella barely knows what day it is. She’s off her head on these; she probably doesn’t even remember her name half the time.”
They are so wrong. After a few months on those meds, I’ve come to learn what they did and how to act as I hid them under my tongue and disposed of them when they weren’t looking. I am not crazy. I know what I see every day. I know his touch. I can feel him. He isn’t a figment of my imagination.
“I don’t care what you say. He will be here tomorrow to pick her up, and that's it,” my father says, and I hear him go out the sliding doors to the backyard.
The glass rattles as he slams the door. I am frozen on the spot. My mother's sobs pull me out of my daze, and I realize I need to get out of here.
Turning around, I rush back to my bedroom, grab a backpack, and stuff my clothes and wallet in it.
Grabbing my phone and charger, I stuff them in, too, before looking down at the gown I have on.
The same hospital gown I came home in from the hospital last night after my suicide attempt.
The bruises around my neck from three weeks ago have finally healed after I tried to hang myself from the ceiling fan in my bedroom, yet I can feel the noose still.
I try to ring my sister. She would help me escape.
We are identical twins except for the birthmark on the inside of my thigh near the apex of my legs.
Rushing out, I go to her room down the hall and open the door.
I know she has cash stored in a shoebox under her bed.
She would run with me. I grab her some clothes before stuffing the cash in the bottom of my bag and zipping it up.
I then change into some of her clothes, slipping her favorite jeans on and one of her hoodies, tucking my hair inside it before stuffing my feet into her sneakers.
Walking over to the window, I push it open.
Hopefully, anyone noticing would think I was Isobella.
Half the time, our parents can’t tell us apart except for the way Isobella carries herself.
She is confident and outgoing; she doesn’t live with the man that haunts her dreams and waking hours like I do.
Why did I go to that cemetery? Why did I break that headstone?
It was dare—a stupid one—one that has haunted me ever since. I was thirteen. How was I supposed to know that fooling around with it would awaken something? It was just a prank.
I jump a few feet to the ground. I know she must be be at Alicia’s place. I just have to sneak over to her house, and we could leave together. We could catch the next bus out of here. I jog along the path. The night was especially eerie tonight, the moon full as it shines down on me.
My feet slap the concrete path that goes along the drop-off of the cliff face.
I pick up my pace seeing Alicia’s house coming into view.
Just as I near the front of her house, my sister steps out, waving to her friend.
We live right on the cliffs that run alongside the ocean.
I can smell the salt in the cool breeze as it caresses my face.
Isobella rushes over to a waiting car—no doubt Michael, her boyfriend’s car—and she climbs in. The car turns onto the narrow road, and I dart out into the middle of the road, waving my hands. The car screeches to a stop, and I see my sister look out the windshield at me in shock.
“Arabella?” she asks, calling out the passenger window before opening her door.
She rushes over to me, and I try to tell her what I overheard. Her hands are clamping down on my arms.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, and I try to explain, panic settling over me as she shoves me into the backseat of her boyfriend's car.
“Okay, it’s alright. We will figure it out,” she says.
I relax, knowing I am getting out of here. But when her boyfriend pulls up out the front of our house, I sit upright.
“No, keep going. We need to go to the train station,” I snap at him, but Isobella is already getting out of the car. She says goodbye to her boyfriend before opening my door.
“Come on, Arabella.”
“But you said we could go.”
“I know. We will. I just need to grab a few things and speak with Dad,” she says.
I shake my head, but she pulls me from the car, and I struggle when she calls out to my father.
The front door burst open, and he seems shocked at the scene before him. He sweeps a hand down his aging face, his face twisting in anger.
“Why aren’t you in your room? You know not to leave the house,” he snaps at me, walking over and grabbing my arm in his vise-like grip.
He drags me toward the house while I kick and struggle against him. My father stops, his hand slapping my face and whipping my head to the side. My sister gasps behind me, and I touch my cheek before looking at him.
“You hit me,” I say, shocked.
My parents are good parents. They never hit us or raise a hand out of anger, but my father’s just hit me.
“Dad!” Isobella shrieks and rushes over.
Her boyfriend leaves and drives down the road after my father waves him off.
“I have had enough of your tantrums, enough of the trouble you keep causing with your defiance,” he bellows at me while dragging me inside.
“Get her sedatives!” he barks at my mother as she rushes over.
“Did you hit her?” my mother asks, just as shocked, and I can feel his handprint etched into my face.
“Enough. Do as I ask,” he snaps at her, and her eyes fall on me.
She smiles sadly but rushes off.
“I won’t go. You can’t sell me off!” I scream at him.
He starts dragging me toward my bedroom, his keys rustling in his pocket, and I know he is about to lock me in.
The bars on my windows prevent me from getting out, and he has everything removed, only leaving a dresser and my bed.
Nothing that I can harm myself with. Isobella is screaming behind me, wanting to know what is going on, but my father ignores her, hauling me down the hallway toward my room before tossing me in.
I hit the carpet, and he rips the bag off my back and tosses it at my sister, who catches it.
“You know what this is about. We spoke yesterday,” my father snaps at Isobella.
Her face looks horrified behind him as she stares at me.
I plead with my eyes for her to do something, but she drops her gaze and looks away.
She knew! She knew he was selling me.
Hurt smashes into me as I watch my mother come in with a needle between her fingers. I am hoping she will save me, but as she gets closer, I realize that hope’s flown out the window.
I scoot backward on my bum, but my father grabs my ankles pulling me back before pinning me.
“Isobella, help!” I scream at her as she looks on with tears in her eyes.
She just watches as my mother jams the needle through my pants and into my thigh, slamming the plunger down.
It takes a few minutes of me struggling before my efforts become futile and weaker.
I stare at the ceiling in a daze, and my father picks me up, placing me on the bed and tucking my limp body in before kissing my head.
“It will be alright, sweetheart. This will be good for you. It's for the best,” he says before walking out and closing the door.
I hear it lock into place as my body becomes paralyzed by the drugs.
* * *
“Bella? Bella, wake up!”
I hear a familiar voice and feel hands shaking my arms, pulling me from the dream, my surroundings bleeding away.
“Isobella…” Her name falls from my lips as I grieve for my sister. My twin and my other half.
“Bella, wake up!” I hear before my body is being lifted.
“Is she alright?” I hear another voice.
“Yes, I think so. She has a nasty gash on her head.”
I hear the voices getting clearer, as pain radiates through me.
“Give her your blood,” I hear the voice again as my mind tries to make sense of the words.
“Blood, so much blood?” I mutter and shiver, the remnants of my dream being chased away. I feel myself being placed on something soft.
“Get in her head while she is bleeding and still out of it,” I hear another voice.
“Let me heal her first.”
Fingers on my chin force my mouth open before something warm coats my tongue. I cringe at the metallic taste before feeling a hot tongue run across the hairline on my head before jerking upright to find I am in a room that’s not mine. Something runs down my chin, and I wipe at it. It’s blood.
I blink, my vision clearing completely as the figures standing over me turn real and familiar, but there is nothing familiar about the man's eyes in front of me. Latham.
Latham’s eyes are a deep reddish black. A sight that’s haunted me for years as I stare at him.
“Demon!” I spit at him, yet he seems to be in some sort of trance.
Xavier and Blaine move around me, and my eyes dart at them.
“What did you just say?” Blaine asks.
“Get the fuck away from me,” I tell them, jumping off the bed, but I am cornered as they block the door.
“Let us explain, Bella,” Xavier says, but I make a run for it.
I am not letting him have me again. I won’t let him have my soul; I won't let him come back. They won’t give me to him.