Chapter 41 #2
He stepped toward the desk but stopped at the edge, letting me know with a single glare that I would never be his daughter.
“But I won’t give you the satisfaction of dragging Davian down with you into your pathetic abyss.”
Once again, I stiffened.
The feeling that my father could take away something that didn't even belong to me nestled painfully in the breathing lump in my chest.
“Sooner or later, he'll find out that you're a bad investment. That you could never be our heir. A broken neck I have to save him from before it's too late.”
I never thought I would agree with him.
Sooner or later, I would have to leave Maplecrest. Not for me. But for him.
“Consider this a warning.”
Somewhere inside the broken paper castle that I was, something naive and rash found the courage to raise my eyebrows.
“What are you going to do? Hope I don't make sure everyone learns the truth?”
He stared for two seconds before a smile touched his lips.
“You think you're more important than you are.” He reached for the golden letter opener on his desk and began turning it in his hands. “And yet I doubt you want to spend your twenties behind bars.” His sullen snort told me he wanted me right there. “Even though that's where you'd be best off.”
Even more daring made me stride toward the desk.
COPYCAT
Billie Eilish
“You threaten me, thinking I'll submit to you just because you've been tyrannizing me my whole life.”
He snorted again, looked down at the letter opener, and shook his head as if I were a little overdramatic child. One who felt too much. One who was too thin-skinned.
“And yet you are so powerless here. Arnold's office is next door, isn't it?”
For the first time in years, I felt safe enough to meet his gaze and smile defiantly. After all, what could a tyrant without a crown and sword do to his unleashed slave?
“It feels good to be able to talk in your presence, knowing that you can't turn into a monster here.”
Boldness got the better of me as I stepped around the desk.
“I've always wanted to ask you how it feels to throw sharp objects at your child.”
He immediately lowered the letter opener. The last hints of his smile disappeared.
“Or, as of late... to choke it.”
Closer. One more step.
This time, I was the unpredictable one. His daughter.
“Did Grandfather do that to you? Did he slap you?” I stopped three feet in front of him. “Did he stomp on your toys every night?” I snorted, as he always did, showing him that fifty percent of his DNA corrupted my body. “Or were you his good little Nazi son?”
His hands clenched into fists. Fists I didn't fear, so I paid no attention to them and stepped even closer.
“Tony was right. He should never have brought me to you. With that he dug your grave.”
It felt good to bring this man the harvest of his own sowing. To corner the perfect prosecutor.
“You're going down, Joseph Richter. Without glory or honor.”
I braced my hand on the table to keep from clenching it into a fist as well. I didn't want to sink as low as he had, didn't want to mirror him completely.
“And the whole world...” I watched closely as his expression tensed, daring to look him in the eye, holding his gaze. “...will watch.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand jerk, preparing myself for one of his slaps, but his hand never reached my cheek.
Waves of Opulence
Ahmet Kenan Bilgic, Turgut Mavuk
Instead, the worst physical pain I had ever experienced shot through my right hand, ripping through the back of my hand, causing me to flinch as my hand cramped up in place.
I wanted to scream, but my father stepped closer, pressed his free hand over my mouth, stifling my cry.
As if time had stopped, we both looked down at my twitching hand pressed against the tabletop. The letter opener, clenched in my father's trembling fist, was stuck in the middle of the back of my hand, pinning my hand to the table.
I began to breathe frantically, wanted to pull my hand away, but he didn't let go of the letter opener, and the pain caused by my slightest movement tore through my hand with such a burning sensation that tears immediately flooded my eyes.
I began to gasp into his hand.
Uncontrollable panic overwhelmed me.
My father leaned toward me, glaring at me with a warning glint in his eyes.
“Do you remember when your English teacher gave me that cute little letter you wrote to your imaginary friend?”
Powerless against his piercing stare, I swallowed my sobs.
I wanted to disintegrate into ashes, to be carried away by the wind.
“The one where you wrote to a man who didn't even exist that you wanted to cut yourself, like a stupid teenager looking for attention?”
My whole body was shaking, but I didn't know if it was because of the pain in my hand or the pain in my chest.
“A few days ago, I found a pretty little notebook in your room...”
My eyes widened.
No.
I had forgotten to take it up to the attic and had kept it in my bag. But luckily, it wasn't the one I had written about Davian in. It was a completely new one. I had only written one thing in it...
He twisted the letter opener.
A merciless burning sensation exploded in that spot, and I immediately screamed into his hand, which pressed even harder against my lips until the smell of alcohol flooded my nostrils, causing me nausea while my vision blurred.
“Let this be a reminder that you're not even strong enough to cut deep enough into your skin.”
Suddenly, he tore himself away from me, stormed around his desk with clenched fists, headed for the door, and disappeared.
My whole body was shaking, a pool of blood emerging from under my hand. So large that panic returned, taking hold.
I wanted to lift my hand, but the letter opener was stuck in the table. He hadn't even been able to turn it properly, yet it felt as if my hand was burning.
Sobbing, I held on to the letter opener, pulled it out of the table as carefully as possible, and lifted my hand, causing the letter opener to slip slightly and a thousand burning flashes in my hand made me cover my mouth with my other hand and scream into it.
I should have seen it coming.
What had gotten into me?
How could this man make you believe he was predictable for once and then reveal his true colors the next moment? Over and over again?
When I lifted my trembling hand, blood immediately ran down my arm and into the sleeve of Lara's brown sweater.
It was welling up more and more from the edges of the letter opener. If I pulled it out...
Helpless, I looked around.
I had to get out of here. Now.
They enjoy seeing my ink blood spill.
They call it art.
– Blue