Twelve
Ara
I rarely use this phone.
Paranoia keeps me from calling him often, even though he’s a tech genius and I paid him well to make our calls untraceable. Paranoia needs no logic.
“Yes?”
Gee. Not so much as a, hello , or how do you do?
What else do I expect from an introvert?
“I need all the remaining amount to be transferred into my offshore account,”
I don’t waste my time with the preamble. I don’t need to stress on the transactions to be untraceable because he was hired for that job.
Papa left a fortune for Iyra and me, keeping Vir in the dark about it. But he made the mistake of making him a business partner, giving the incestuous bastard access to all our properties—properties worth a fortune.
At the time, money wasn’t my priority. Escaping the country was. It still isn’t, but now that I’ve decided to adopt Cas, I want him to grow up comfortable.
Iyra won’t share what’s going on with her business, but I know she could use the extra, especially with plans to open two new stores in another city.
I make enough from the university, but I have no idea how much it costs to raise a child genius. Extra money wouldn’t hurt, and I want to give Cas everything he could ever need.
“You need it all?”
“Yes,”
I should’ve done this sooner, but I was too scared Vir might catch wind of it.
It’s stupid, really—he can’t track every transaction in the country. I’ve even set up a convincing ruse about our deaths, planted the right DNA, and bribed the forensic expert for the reports.
Still, I can never be too cautious. One hint of doubt could cost me everything.
It’s been a decade, though. He should’ve accepted that I’m dead. After all, I’ve spent all these years looking over my shoulder, and no one’s ever tried to drag me back.
“Will that be a problem?” I bite my lip, nervous when Div, stays quiet for some time.
“No.”
Okay then.
I wonder how the city is now. I’ve kept myself from any news about my home country, but the pull to return is always there—to live in the place where my parents grew up, in the ancestral mansion passed down through generations, to oversee Ma’s NGOs, to see if people still remember our family.
But the fear of Vir outweighs all those primal urges.
I bet Cas would love Grandpa’s farm. It’s nestled between Ivory Hills, a vast stretch of land so beautiful it’s beyond words. Our whole family spent every holiday there, finding peace and calm absent from the busy city.
Cas would love our family mansion, too. The sprawling structure in the heart of the city was being considered for heritage status. I wonder if it ever happened.
“Hey, Div?”
“Yes?”
“Did the city ever declare our home as a heritage site?”
With the immediate family declared dead and half the property designated for tourism, it should’ve been easy for the city to take over. I ask the question with excitement, but Div’s prolonged silence, punctuated by unnecessary throat-clearing, sends a ripple of anxiety through me.
Div doesn’t sugarcoat. He gives facts, no matter how they land. It’s something I appreciate about him. But if he’s hesitating, how bad could it be?
“Div?” My voice shakes, and he lets out a sigh.
“He took it, Ara.”
My stomach drops, coldness seeping into my veins, and my ears start ringing. How is it possible? How can he, someone who isn’t even that associated with our family by blood, take away our ancestral home?
“How is that possible?”
“The bastard convinced the throne to turn the mansion into one of the secretariats for the capital. It was only used briefly before he manipulated his pawns to pressure the committee into building a new one. After that, the transition from government property to the chairman of the advisory committee was a done deal.”
Hatred. Rage. Crippling sadness.
I cannot concentrate on one emotion because a cocktail of them slithers into my veins.
“What all did he take?”
“Everything. He dissolved your father’s companies into his own and grew them into something unbeatable over the decade. The fucker shut down some of your mother’s NGOs giving lack of funds as a reason and uses some of the bigger ones as a front for money laundering. He even approved the development of your grandfather’s land,”
Grandpa’s farm. The land he fought all his life to be unmarred by the vultures of the city. The ranch he protected with his life. It was a witness to his wedding celebration and also to my parents. The farm where Grandpa and Grandma were buried together. Even after death, they didn’t want to leave each other. He left all his money, business, and power in the city to live on the farm with Grandma until she left us.
“I’m sorry, Ara.”
A broken sound escapes me as I hang up, not caring about the money—or anything else. The monster has taken everything.
Everything.
* * *
Loneliness is a constant companion in this wretched life I’ve stolen from others. It gathers around me like an impenetrable fog, not allowing anyone close to me or me to leave it. The constant battle of trying to get away from the mist, from the demons that hiss and laugh at me, is hard.
It’s draining.
It’s exhausting my soul.
The loneliness stayed at the bay for the past two months.
With Iyra and Ivy always around, I didn’t dread returning to a silent house where paranoia lurked. I didn’t check every corner or double-lock the door, fearing an intruder. I didn’t sit alone, letting nightmarish thoughts consume me, trying to push me into the oblivion I fought so hard to ignore.
And the decision to adopt Cas has helped after Ivy and Iyra went back to their lives.
The thought of bringing my happy bundle into my life gave me joy that felt foreign to experience after all these years. I was coping, slowly coming out of the mist that was filled with paranoia and loneliness, when life decided to kick me to the curb again.
The week of my parent’s death anniversary is hard as it is. Every year, I spend this week in an alcohol-induced haze, chasing away the ghosts of my past and blacking out on my bed. This year, I decided that I wouldn’t do that. That I would cope better.
For Cas.
He deserves someone better, someone who doesn’t turn to alcohol when things get tough. But look how well that turned out.
I take a swig from the half-empty bottle of brandy as I stare into the sea. The waters where I mixed Ma’s and Papa’s ashes. The tumultuous waves remind me of the chaos upturning my life, and like a powerless fool, I can do nothing but witness the consequences of my sins.
The clouds rumble above, the wind picking up as the angry tides clash below the pier of the bench I’m sitting on.
I usually love this weather. The moments before it rains are the only time I feel as if I belong. When the rain showers over my skin, it feels as if it is absolving me of all the sins I’ve committed. Cleaning me of all the marks they left on my skin.
But as the gloom settles in, everything negative and tortuous I’ve tried so hard to keep at bay crashes into me like the angry waves below.
Guilt, anguish, anger, grief, helplessness, hopelessness and the feeling of numbness that I hate.
It’s been a decade, and I still cannot forgive myself for not saving Papa.
If only I’d acted when I first saw Vir in our home. If only I’d voiced my unease about Papa’s new business partner, listened to my gut instead of dismissing it as ridiculous. Maybe then, things would’ve been different.
Papa wasn’t just a businessman; he was powerful. Vir wasn’t yet the chief advisor to the Throne. Papa would’ve raised hell if he knew Vir’s true intentions. He would’ve burned the monster to the ground, turning that day into a city-wide festival.
We could’ve been happy. Ma’s already fragile heart wouldn’t have given out after seeing Papa in the morgue. Grandpa wouldn’t have been found hanging in his farmhouse after trying to uncover the truth.
We should’ve been in the garden, Iyra helping Papa with carpentry, me assisting Ma with gardening, planning their 36th wedding anniversary next month. We could’ve been happy.
The crippling guilt pushes the fog closer, my demons hissing harder inside my head.
You are nothing but a useless fool.
Someone who should’ve died instead of countless others.
You bring nothing but chaos into people’s lives.
Pathetic excuse of a human.
Murderer.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t bother wiping my tears. They would only keep coming.
It’s been a while since I’ve felt this numbness coating every inch of me.
I’ve been selfish, focused on survival at any cost. I was ready to pay the price—ready to live with the guilt of taking lives to save my own.
For my sister.
I couldn’t leave Iyra orphaned so soon after we lost everyone. I couldn’t leave her under his scrutiny, blind to the danger he posed. I was terrified of what he’d do to her once his twisted fixation with me ended.
But that was then. Iyra is safe now. She has her own life, her own friends, and maybe even someone special. She’s happy.
Sitting here, consumed by anguish and chaos, I can’t help but wonder: Was surviving worth it?
Why am I still here?
I’m not moving forward. I’m not escaping the demons. No matter how hard I try, the trauma still haunts me.
I should be able to live alone, to love my own company, to not dread the silence. But I hate it. I hate being alone. I hate being left to stew in my thoughts, especially now.
Maybe everyone would be better off without me.
What about Cas?
I squeeze my eyes shut, recalling his face when I told him that he would be coming home with me forever.
His face lit up with a blinding smile, stretching his chubby cheeks wide. His unique eyes sparkled with joy as he looked at me like I hung the moon. He hugged me tight, refusing to let go for an hour. His glee was infectious as he danced around, gathering his things and announcing to his roommates that he was leaving.
But I remember how the light dimmed when Ellie told him he had to wait another week for the documents to be approved. I remember how hard he tried to hold back tears as I left the orphanage that evening, even after I promised him a hundred times it was only temporary. That no one would take him from me again.
Can I break that promise?
No.
I can’t let these thoughts consume me—not now, not when I’ve taken on the responsibility of caring for him. I can’t let him down. Letting my family down was one thing; I won’t do it to him. He needs stability. Someone to look up to, someone he can rely on.
I have to push the demons away, make room for something better—for him. He needs a safe, happy space to grow. A healthy environment, like the one Ma and Papa gave us.
There is a pinch in my heart at that reminder.
They would’ve loved the little guy. I can imagine the grins on their faces while they played with Cas. I can imagine Papa taking him on his evening strolls while Ma stuffed his face with the new mouth-watering recipes she often concocted in the kitchen.
A faint, sad smile touches my lips as I open my eyes and gaze out at the sea. A gentle breeze brushes against my cheeks, and for a moment, I let myself believe it’s Ma, trying to comfort me.
“I miss you guys,”
I miss them every day.
I miss Ma every time I open my wardrobe and find the clothes I stole from her closet. I miss Papa every time I do my taxes wrong. I miss my grandpa every time I use the grill.
I miss them so deeply it hurts. They were my greatest cheerleaders, my most treasured ones—the people in my corner, always there, no matter what.
“Next time, I’ll bring Cas along,”
I set the brandy bottle beside me, smiling at the ocean. The wind picks up, and I chuckle softly, imagining my parents are cheering at my words. It might sound ridiculous, even in my head, but it’s all I have left—and I’m holding onto it.
“I think Iyra is working too hard,” I worry out loud.
No matter the number of times I tell her not to pull all-nighters in her bakery, she wouldn’t listen. Talking to a wall might fetch better results than telling her to stop spoiling her health while creating new recipes.
“She’s got your stubbornness Ma,”
I take another long sip from the bottle, the burn searing my throat. I rarely drink, avoiding alcohol except at this time of year. The familiar buzz begins to creep in, chasing away the lingering numbness.
Leaning back on the bench, I tilt my head until all I can see is the endless stretch of angry grey clouds.
The rumble grows louder now, accompanied by sporadic flashes of lightning. The storm clouds surge forward, devouring the white patches around them, deepening into an ominous shade with every passing second.
Their colour reminds me of a certain someone's eyes—stormy and unyielding. The rumble mirrors his gruff voice, resonating deeply as those intense, grey depths bore into me, stirring something I’m not accustomed to.
They are always filled with nothingness, but how come they raged in fury when he saw me hurt? Why did he look angry? Why did his emotionless baritone take an octave of maddening rage when Eero tried to touch me? And what right did he have to touch, hold, and carry me as if it were his god-given right?
You’re spiralling.
I am.
His actions contradict his words. He tells me to stay away, but he won’t stay away himself. Ever since his cryptic words at the hospital, it’s taken all my energy to push thoughts of him out of my mind. With everything else on my plate, the last thing I need is the added complexity of a crime lord invading my thoughts.
The underside of my eyes tingle, and I can feel my cheeks warm as I recall how his warm tongue licked my tears. What is it with him and licking my tears? That act should be disturbing, creepy and abhorrent, at the least. Why in the heavens do I find it…nice?
I groan and finish the remaining drink in one go. I don’t want to be thinking about him. The man scares me endlessly.
He also makes you horny.
I need to shut that hormonal part of myself which peeks out wherever he is concerned. Even his mere thoughts are enough to send away the coherence I usually work with.
The quick consumption of alcohol loosens my limbs. The dull ache I felt in my ankle is no more, and despite myself, I let out a chuckle for no reason.
“Good god, I’m wasted,” I slur out loud.
“Oops,” I bring my fingers over my mouth when I hiccup loudly.
Even my drunk self knows that I’m in no state to drive or even hail for a cab. I need to sit here for a while until I’m at least part sober.
Alcohol loosens my tongue, bringing out the woman who loves spouting random, unnecessary facts. No one likes a know-it-all, which is why I keep her shackled.
I pat my jeans, searching for my phone, only to remember I left it on the kitchen counter after my call with Div.
“Son of a gun,” I hiss.
My grip on the empty brandy bottle loosens, and it tumbles down.
“Darn it!”
The darn thing slips my fingers as it tumbles down the slope of the pier. I’d hate for it to break and hurt someone. Despite my lack of not being able to walk straight, I try to chase it.
“Catch it!” I call out when I see a pair of shiny shoes in my vision.
The right shoe lifts slightly to trap the bottle under the feet. I stand straight with a thankful smile.
“Thank…ohh. Hello,”