Page 74 of Wicked Roses
“And why’s that?”
“Because you don’t judge me. You see even the stuff I don’t want you to and you accept me. Everybody else has all these expectations of me, like I’m supposed to always be perfect. I don’t know how to drop the mask for anyone else. You’re the only one.”
Maybe coincidencesarereal. You’re the only one I drop my mask for...
“I just don’t want to feel like I’m held hostage forever,” she goes on. “It’s like this one person has all this power over me. I don’t even know who he is, but no matter how hard I try, I’m back at square one every time. It makes me want to make him suffer. He deserves to know what it’s like. For him to hurt even worse.”
As she vents, I sit in silence and take in her words. I slip into my own head as they practically become my own—the same kind of sentiments that have driven me to do what I’m doing. The mission I set out on years ago when I was a powerless kid trapped in the household from hell.
So many times, even as a boy, I had fantasized about grabbing a kitchen knife in the dead of night. I would sneak into Lucius and Stefania’s room and I’d run the knife straight through his paunch of a belly. I’d make him sputter up his blood until the life drained from him. Until he stared up helplessly at me and begged for mercy.
Then I’d do it. I’d end him with the same cruel smile he’d worn all the times he made me feel helpless.
Destroying Lucius became an obsession of mine. The fixation on the plan I’ve carefully put together. That I’m still carrying out ’til this day.
I’ve never talked about all the things that happened. The reasonswhyI’m doing what I am. Those have been buried deep inside me. Dark seeds that grew from the time I was a boy until I became the man I am today—a level of pure hatred that’s enough to drive anybody insane.
But knowing I’ll get the last laugh is what keeps me calm. Just like with Delphine’s attacker. So long as I can keep sight on the end goal, I can do what’s necessary to get there.
I understand her feelings, yet as my heart rate increases, it’s difficult articulating this. I’ve hidden behind expressing it with my fists for so long, doing so with words seems useless. Seconds pass before I make up my mind.
I’m about to do something I never thought I’d do.
Apparently, this scares even a psycho like me. My chest clenches tight and it feels like my airways constrict.
Delphine should know. If it’ll help her... if it’ll let her know she’s not alone...
“Do you remember the day I broke up with you?” I ask, my voice rough and strained.
Her short laugh is cynical. “Which time?”
“The first time. When I said you lived in a pretend world.”
“And you lived in a real one,” she finishes.
“You asked me about my father,” I say, and then I pause. My fingers bend into tight fists. It’s automatic when thinking about him. “You were right. I just couldn’t handle admitting it. My father hates me as much as I hate him. He’s hated me from the moment I was born.”
Her hand flies out and lands on top of my clenched fist. Her face fills with worry and compassion as she sits up straighter and opens her mouth with what’s probably a million different questions.
“Let me finish, Phi.” I stare off at an indiscriminate point in the distance, remembering things I haven’t thought about in detail for many years. “Lucius used to say one of his favorite pastimes was making me suffer. He turned it into a sport. What could he do to make me cry, make mebleedtoday?
“Sometimes, it was simple stuff. Maybe he’d take off his belt and beat me with it. Other times, he liked to make it more exciting for himself. He’d test me—he had this closet he’d lock me inside of. He’d leave me in there for hours. One time, he left me in there for a whole day. Twenty-six hours in total. Just waiting. Just sitting in the dark wondering what he’d do next. The fear was what made it fun to him. Keeping me guessing.”
Delphine’s crying. She’s listened to my request to let me finish, but tears wet her eyes. She rolls her lips together to keep from making a sound. The pads of her fingers glide over my scarred knuckles in a soothing, sympathetic touch.
I decide to go all the way. I open my clenched fist and turn it over so it’s palm side up. For a second we both stare at the inside of my forearm. The network of protruding veins travel up to the edges of my tattoos. Many I got years ago to cover up scars I didn’t want to see anymore. The ones I hadn’t agreed to being inflicted on me.
I point one out, the pockmarked scar still visible if you look close enough. “This was his cigar. He used to put them out on me if he felt like it.”
Delphine winces. I point out another jagged scar along my arm.
“This was another time he made me play a game. It involved his knife and how long I could go until I tapped out.” I gesture to a few more along my ribcage. “After a certain point, I was sure he’d kill me one day. Once the thrill was gone from all the fucked up shit he was doing to me. Then I knew if he didn’t kill me, I’d kill him. I’ddestroyhim.”
“Your mother...” she drifts off, eyes as wide and horrified as they are tearful.
“What about her? Stefania is in her own world. She drinks when anything real gets to be too much. Guess that’s all the time. He never touches her—never lays a single finger on her—but that’s the point. She might as well be dead to him. He hates her guts. Maybe even more than he hates mine. Her punishment is being his wife. There’s no escape for her. At least I got away.”
“But why? Why does he hate his own wife and son?”