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I’m sure Uncle Lucian and Aunt Esme would agree with me. They sent me a lot of gifts and notes but couldn’t visit me due to the rules.
I was glad for that too. Aunt Esme would have smoldered me with her love, and it would point out once again how much my own mother hates me.
“I’m not sure what you mean—”
The door bursts open, and my heart plummets as my godfather enters inside, his hard-as-granite face studying everything around him while his leather jacket billows lightly under the AC. “Who are you?”
Instead of answering her, he exchanges a long look with Dad, who nods at him after several seconds. They do that stuff a lot, communicating without words, as Aunt Esme calls it. I guess that’s why they are the best of friends. Santiago and I still can’t read minds, and we probably won’t have the chance to learn. “Let’s go, Doctor,” Dad says to her and pulls her by the elbow as she blinks several times, her mouth opening and closing. “They need to be alone for a while.”
She protests, but he gets her out quickly, shutting the door behind them while a familiar bitter taste fills me, and I grip the blanket once again.
No, no, no.
Not Uncle Lucian.
“Hi, ahijado.”
He puts a stack of new books on the bedside table and perches on the bed, his eyes trailing over me while I barely resist turning to the window, but I can’t ignore my godfather. “I also have this.” He takes out a card from his jeans pocket and places it on my lap. By the weird scribbles and red ink, I know it was written by Santiago. “He misses you very much and demands for me to bring him to you.” He cracks a smile that doesn’t reach his expressive eyes. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll bring him over.” I quickly shake my head. “Your godmother painted a special painting just for you. It will cost millions. It will be a great addition to your trust fund.” I say nothing, as their love makes everything even worse. The guilt grows by the second.
Why did Dad do this to me?
“Jacob said you’re not talking to anyone, including your therapist.” I shrug, casting my gaze down, and trace my finger over the tree design on the blanket. “I understand.”
Fury sparks through me, and I clench the blanket.
He understands nothing! They all keep saying they understand, but how could they…
“I know how you feel because I experienced what you did.” A gasp slips past my lips. “Many, many hideous things happened to me, and I survived them just like you did.” A beat passes. “They lasted for years. Different cages and monsters, but the outcome was all the same. My pain. Right here.” He taps on his heart. “For a long time, I had only one goal. To live and see them all burn.” I swallow hard at this because that’s the need consuming me too.
More than seeing my blood, I wish to see Peter’s and Alex’s so they’d know how it feels to be hopeless.
I’m afraid of such thoughts, I’m so small, but at the same time…I’m all grown up now.
My voice is raspy as I finally speak and joy lights up his dark eyes along with a softness he rarely displays to anyone sans his family. “I want to die, Padrino.” A heavy breath escapes me. “I want it more than anything.” I’m so focused on the design that I still when he touches my chin and tips it up.
The touch is barely there, but somehow, it calms down the nerves all over me from this confession.
A confession I wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone else.
My dad is my hero and always will be. I love him the most because I never doubted his love, but my godfather…he’s different.
A bond I can’t explain because I can say anything to him without worrying about his feelings or how it might affect him.
Santiago and Dad have the same kind of bond.
It’s special.
“There is something more you want than death, ahijado.” My heartbeat speeds up, and goose bumps pop on my skin. “It’s their suffering.”
Yes.
The idea of that makes the knife on the table less appealing. But it brings shame too as such thoughts are sinful.
Does it make me a monster? What if he thinks I’m a psycho now? What if…
“Florian.” I force myself to look at him again and see nothing but acceptance in him. “I punished everyone who hurt me. The thought of that gave me strength.”
I gape at him in shock because I’m not sure he should be telling me this. Still too wound up, I ask, “But doesn’t that make you a monster? Daddy would be terrified if he knew,” I finish on a whisper, already hurting from the disappointment once he finds out.
