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This time, I felt like breathing in.
After the words he shouted at me with so much anger, all I wanted to do was drown.
But even if I drowned, my passing wouldn’t change reality.
Sly fucked me, and he loved it.
And he was a fucking coward for not admitting it.
Chapter 27
CAIA
I didn’t sleep last night. After Sly pushed me into the pool, I stayed in there, floating on my back, and staring up at the stained-glass dome. It was another rainy night. One I would never forget.
I had never been this angry with Sly. What I was feeling was nothing near the jealousy I felt all these years, and it was the first time I didn’t want to be around him. At least not for a little while.
He took my virginity and took me for granted, and he used me for his pleasure, which in the beginning I had no issues with.
But the longer I floated, and the more I thought about it all, the clearer my thoughts became, and I realized that what he used me for was not okay.
I should’ve been ashamed of myself for letting it come this far, but I had no right to take back everything I orchestrated. I had wanted to be with him. I wanted him to take my virginity. I wanted him to see me.
But all my efforts were wasted.
I was angry at myself.
I was angry at Sly.
But most of all, I was angry at Wavel.
Why did she have to grow up sick? If she hadn’t been sick, Sly would’ve never been so obsessed and protective over her. I would’ve gotten a fair share of his unconditional love. But I was left with nothing, and all because I wasn’t sick.
She should’ve died. I wanted her to die.
I wanted her gone and I wanted to know what it was like to be seen by him. I wanted to know what it was like to be the only one he cared about.
I wanted Wavel dead.
I wished she was never even born.
My skin was wrinkly when I got out of the pool, and after picking up my dress, I walked upstairs, not bothering to dry off first. I left small puddles of water all over the floor on my way to my bedroom, and when I stood in the hallway, I turned toward Sly’s door, feeling nothing but anger at the idea of him.
My first impulse had been to go in there and mess with him the way I had messed with him before. I wanted to make him suffer. Make him feel what I was feeling. But I decided to let him feel my anger in a different way. I would ignore him. Let him understand that I wasn’t his toy, no matter the fact that we were playing his game. His game was boring.
I spent the rest of the night rereading one of my favorite books. It was a book I kept hidden from my family because I knew they wouldn’t approve of it. I bought it online after stumbling across an author who dared to write love stories that most readers would stay away from. The book was about a daughter and father who fell in love in the comfort of their home—which also doubled as the headquarters of a cult. Almost like our home. Kiplyn—the heroine in the book—was like me in a way. She had her issues, but she was also fearless and strong-minded. She didn’t take shit from anyone, and she followed her heart, no matter how warped it was. That was the magic of fiction. You could see yourself in a character, no matter how fucked up their actions were. I felt close to Kiplyn even if she wasn’t real, but I knew that if she were, we would’ve been best friends.
Around eight, I heard my parents walk around downstairs, and when the smell of bacon reached my bedroom, I got up and decided to join them for breakfast. I was in a good mood this morning.
“Good morning, darling,” Dad said as he saw me walk into the dining room.
“Oh, that’s a nice surprise. Joining us for breakfast for once, are you? I almost mistook you for your sister,” Mom said in her usual mocking tone. She hated me.
“I’m hungry,” I told them, sitting down at the table in my usual spot.
I wasn’t expecting them to talk to me while we started on breakfast, but to my surprise, they didn’t keep their mouths shut.
“We’re taking Wavel to town this afternoon to buy her new clothes for her trip to Canada, and while we’re down there, we will go eat at a restaurant for dinner.”
