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Nick.
When I put the letter down, I have so many thoughts in my mind.
Fifteen years?! I can’t think of being in that place for that long. I stayed in jail for six months only, which seems like I should thank Nick, and even that time was more than enough for me.
Everyone wants a piece of you? Does that mean what I think it does?
A shudder runs through my body, my stomach convulses with the forbidden memories, and I push them aside, focusing on another thought in my mind.
He hates me.
This fucking hurts, more than I would admit, but can I blame him? Even I hate myself.
Whatever he’s been through is because of me.
Chapter 22
Past
Age 13
I knock on the door hesitantly. My back hurts from sleeping on a quilt in that empty room. It was cold in there. Cold and dark, just like the closet my mother used to lock me in. I hated the similarity, I hated everything it reminded me of, but I can’t dare to complain. This is the only place that felt like home, and I don’t want to lose it.
The door opens, bringing me out of my thoughts. Father Edward smiles down at me, and I tell myself that everything is okay, that nothing’s wrong.
“My sweet Veronica. Come in, beautiful,” he says, but doesn’t give me enough space to enter the room. “Come on, come inside,” he says, still smiling.
Biting my lip, I squeeze in from the little space between him and the door. He puts his hand on my back, just above my butt and I stiffen for a second.
Keep calm, Veronica. What’s wrong with you?
“Sit down, Veronica,” he says, pointing to the same couch we sat on last night. I do as I’m told, and he sits right next to me, even closer than he did last night. His arm is touching mine, the warmth radiates through me.
“Let’s start, shall we?”
I nod, not knowing what to expect.
“I’ll ask you questions, and you’ll answer them carefully and honestly, okay?” he asks, his eyes are penetrating.
I swallow and nod.
“I will never judge you, and there’s nothing you need to be afraid or ashamed of, okay my delicate flower?”
I smile at his words. The uneasiness from earlier with the similarity of my house vanishes.
“Yes, Father,” I say.
“Do you believe in God, Veronica?”
I frown at the question. “Yes, Father,” I say, but my voice comes out like a question, and he quirks an eyebrow at me. “I believe in God, but sometimes I don’t understand him. Sometimes I don’t know why he lets people be hurt,” I mutter.
He smiles. “Pain is part of pleasure, Veronica. You can know the value of good only after terrible things happened to you,” he says. His voice comes out almost like he’s amused.
He looks at me with a strange glint in his eyes and I shudder. His hand moves to my hair, playing with the black strands between his fingers before he touches my cheek and neck. I lean back to put some distance between us when his fingers keep moving toward my arm.
“Father,” I start in protest, but I can’t continue. I don’t know what else to say or what I’m protesting.
“Would you like to go to the garden and get some fresh air before we continue, Veronica? Because I’m planning on keeping you here for a long time,” he says.
