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“So, do you know the story? Or do you want me to tell it to you?” I ask, doubling the knot on the robe’s belt. “I was there, after all.”
“I’m not looking for gossip.”
“Right.”
“It’s been a long night.” He rubs his face, pushes his hands through his hair, and leans against the headboard. I can see on his face that the night has, indeed, been long. “I know your mother committed suicide there. I know the plan was to take you with her. I know you were found several hours later nearly having frozen to death. What is there to gossip about? It’s tragic. But your life wasn’t destroyed. You’re alive. You survived.”
I swallow hard. Can he see my face? Can he read my eyes? I have my back to the window, so I don’t think he can. Besides, all of that made the headlines for weeks. It doesn’t mean anything that he knows those things. But it’s not the facts themselves. It’s the way he says that last part.
No one has ever mentioned that night with anything but morbid curiosity. Not one person. It’s like they all want to get a look at the girl her crazy mother decided to spare at the last minute. Some have asked me why. I was fucking five, and she was fucking insane. She’d been diagnosed bipolar the year I was born and probably hadn’t been very consistent with her meds. How the fuck would I know why she didn’t throw me off before jumping herself? Who asks a child that?
“Madelena,” Santos is saying. He’s out of bed and pulling on his pants. When did he get out of bed? “I know everything there is to know about you. And I know what you’ve been through—”
“You know what I’ve been through?” I can’t have this, can’t have this kindness. “How the fuck do you know what I’ve been through?”
I walk toward the door, feeling exposed.
Santos is quick and catches my arm before I reach it. He spins me around to face him. “I am not your enemy.”
“But you are. You have to be. Don’t you get it?” I tug free of him and rub my face. Fuck. I’m tired, and that bottle of wine tastes stale on my tongue and makes my limbs feel heavy.
“Come back to bed, Madelena. Sleep it off.”
“Do you mean Mad Elena?” I face him, those words still having so much fucking power over me. “Mad like my mom?” I’m going to cry soon. Fuck. I’m going to cry, and I really don’t want to do that in front of him.
He just stands there watching me, and this time, I see fucking pity in his eyes. “Your mom was mentally ill. It’s nothing to joke about or make fun of.”
“Don’t you wonder if I am?” I ask, barely hearing, not caring about that last part. Because this is where I always get caught, what I always come back to. Maybe those kids were right all along. Maybe they’ve known better than me just how fucked up and crazy I am.
“I know you do,” Santos says. “It must be terrifying.”
“Don’t fucking patronize me!” I slap my hands against his chest and take two steps away. “Just leave me alone. You don’t need to know anything about me. You don’t get to. And you don’t get to judge me.”
“I’m not judging you,” he says calmly, reclaiming the little bit of space I’d put between us.
I open the door, but stupid Val is standing right outside, so I just close it again.
“Let’s go to bed. Get some sleep. This will all be much less dramatic in the morning.”
“Dramatic?” I almost laugh. “I’m not being dramatic. Tell him to go.”
“This is the alcohol talking. Back to bed. You’ll sleep it off.”
“Get away from me.” I try to go around him, but he puts a hand on the door and blocks me. He grips my jaw, turning me to look at him. I feel a tear slide down my cheek. He watches it, eyes almost losing focus for a moment before his gaze settles on mine again.
“I think there’s one thing you don’t understand, Madelena. I know very well that you are innocent, that you are a pawn. And I meant what I said. I don’t want to hurt you. But you can’t fight me at every turn, and you don’t have to be afraid of me knowing your secrets. I won’t use them against you.”
“I will fight you. I have to. Because no matter what you say, you will hurt me. You already have. You will use me to get what you want. Like you said, I’m a pawn.”
“There was never an alternative for you. Not with a man like Marnix De Léon as your father.”
“Wait a minute,” I start, realizing something. “Have you convinced yourself that you’ve somehow saved me?” Again, I try to slip away. Again, I fail. “Do you really believe that? Because all that’s happened is that you’ve taken me out of one prison and put me in another and at home, my doors weren’t locked. You took any chance I had for a normal life away when I was fifteen. Fucking fifteen, Santos. Don’t think you’re some white knight riding in to rescue me from the monster in my life—”
“You don’t know what your father is capable of. I’m not sure you’d have survived this long if I hadn’t taken you out of that house.”
“Because you are just as much a monster,” I finish, completely ignoring his words.
His eyes narrow.
