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“My answer is the same, Jordan. It wasn’t something you needed to know, and I wanted to protect you from the dangers of it. I figured if you knew nothing, they could never use you for anything, but I guess I was wrong.”
Yeah. I guess you were.
He changes the subject and asks me questions about being here, but I answer robotically. My head is miles away. I barely recall that part of the conversation when we hang up.
My father is lying to me—again.
As if he hasn’t done this to me my entire life? As if he hasn’t already messed everything up, he’s only making it worse now.
He asked me to call him tomorrow before we got off the phone, and I said I would, but— I’m not sure I want to.
I don’t feel better after speaking with him. In fact, I feel worse. I was thrilled when I was told I could call him. No, that’s not true. That isn’t quite what I was thrilled about.
My excitement was about Enzo trusting me. Enough to allow me to have a phone.
A step in the right direction.
Maybe even enjoy our life one day.
Maybe…
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling until it grows so dark I can’t see. Still, I stare up, unable to sleep. My body and mind are relatively calm, but something isn’t right. I feel like hundreds of ants are crawling beneath my skin.
My phone lights up, brightening the room. I turn toward it to see a text notification. I pick it up to look at it, wondering why my father would be awake right now. But it isn’t my father.
Enzo: Did you speak with your father?
Me: I did.
Enzo: Do you feel better having the truth?
Does he think my father would tell me the truth? Or is he mocking me? Was he banking on knowing this would happen? Is he manipulating me because my father is an asshole?
Me: I don’t think I have the truth.
The little texting dots form and disappear a few times before another text comes through.
Enzo: I’m sorry. I’d hoped he would be honest.
Enzo: For once.
I hadn’t expected such a genuine and caring response from Enzo, but I need it right now. I need an ounce of compassion, so I take it.
Me: So did I.
Enzo: I won’t be around for most of the day tomorrow. I’ll try to return for dinner.
I stare at the text, wondering why he’s suddenly being so nice to me. Is it possible he cares that my father is an asshole? Does he care that I’m forced here when I don’t want to be? Not enough he’ll let me go, so I guess not. If he cared, he wouldn’t be doing this. He could have paid off my father’s debt and left me alone.
If my father cared, he wouldn’t have done what he did.
So it seems the only person in the world who cares about me is me.
And I don’t feel like doing that anymore.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Vincenzo
