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Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jordan
I’m told if I don’t show up for three meals a day at exactly the time I am supposed to, Enzo will make the closet my permanent bedroom and I won’t have any clothes. The clothing thing isn’t so bad, other than being cold. At this point, I may as well give them up so he has one less thing to hold over my head, but spending all my time in that closet? No, thank you.
I hate how much control this man has over me with his words. It’s like some kind of crazy mental warfare.
Because of this, I pick and choose my battles. What’s worth getting punished over, and what isn’t. Because Enzo does go through with punishment. I guess there’s a reason why parents use it on their children—it works. And who decides punishment stops as an adult? Sure, it follows people into adulthood when it comes to work and legal stuff, but what about common actions? What about those things your parents would punish you over that no one is allowed to do once you’re an adult? Who says you can’t do that?
It’s just one of those things that happens, but apparently, Enzo didn’t get the memo.
My father never punished me.
Never. Not once in my life was I ever punished, but that’s because I never did anything wrong.
My father was always fair, and I think the reason I respected his wishes so much was because I trusted him.
Well, that was my first mistake—obviously.
I’m still confused about it all. I understand that he lied to me. Lied to a lot of people, probably. Though, I still don’t know the full extent of what he did. I’m here for a reason. I get that, and I’m constantly thinking about the man my father is and the man I thought he was. Seems they aren’t the same person. I haven’t accepted that yet. I don’t know if I ever will. How do you accept the fact someone you trusted for twenty-one years of your life has been lying to you about everything? How do you move on and decide to trust them again?
Okay, maybe he didn’t lie to me about everything. I believe he loves me. He has to or he wouldn’t have worried about trying to protect me my whole life, because I still think that’s what he was trying to do. He tried to keep me away from all the stuff he tangled himself in. Yet he had no problem using me to his benefit when that mess threatened to kill him.
I sigh as I head downstairs for lunch with ten minutes to spare. I’d rather be early than risk being late.
When I get to the kitchen, I find Rafael making a sandwich. A head of lettuce, half a tomato, jar of mayo, and a package of lunch meat is spread out on the counter in front of him.
“What are you doing here?” I question.
He looks at me over his shoulder, smiling. “I live here.”
I roll my eyes, glancing into the dining room, noting the papers still there.
“I know, but I thought you were leaving.”
“Does that mean you’ve been friendly with Enzo?”
“No,” I snap. “I overheard the babysitter talking about it.”
“The babysitter?” he asks with a raised brow.
“Bernice. The one who watches my every move.”
He glances around the kitchen. “Don’t see her here now.”
“Trust me, she’s around.”
“Would you like a sandwich?” he asks.
A sandwich sounds good. Simple. Better than the heavy food I’m force-fed.
“Sure.” I hop onto the counter to sit.
Rafael smirks as he cuts the sandwich he already made in half, puts it on a plate, and hands it to me. I pick it up and take a bite. I can’t remember the last time I ate something as easy as a sandwich. It’s good.
I look around the kitchen, and of course everything in here was fixed. New oven, new drawers—all of it.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask after swallowing the first bite.
