Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Ever since that nightmarish dinner a few days ago, I’ve been spiraling. I know I have, because no amount of violence, various Vencor missions, or even killing on behalf of the Members has managed to fill this black hole inside me.
If anything, it’s been widening and deepening at an alarming rate. The demons have gotten louder, demanding more blood, more crushed bones, and more empty eyes.
Just more.
Hockey used to be enough to calm this rage that’s been consuming me since I was young, but now it’s just a scratch on the surface of madness.
A drop of water after years of thirst.
And it’s fucking with my head, because I don’t know how to end it.
I considered killing Regis and even Julian. It’d do the world good if I wiped them both from the face of the earth, so they’d stop talking nonsense about my mother.
But then Lucia gave me a flash drive after being instructed by Regis.
My father wanted me to watch memories of what my mother did to me, and I chose to erase them from my head.
Ignore them.
The attempted drowning. The attempted suffocation. The attempted poisoning—that I didn’t even know about.
Regis documented the security footage in full detail, forcing me to see the empty look in Mom’s eyes when she did all of that to me.
He forced me to see him, and sometimes, Julian, come to the rescue every single time, because, according to Lucia, Regis always watched her or had someone watch on his behalf.
Apparently, he didn’t trust that Mom wouldn’t hurt me.
Fuck Regis. Fuck him and the letter.
For a while, I was in denial and convinced myself that he’d faked it.
Every single goddamn word in it.
That’s not a stretch.
It wouldn’t have been hard for him or Julian to have one of their close-knit bands of ‘experts’ fake my mother’s handwriting.
But the more I read it, the weaker my convictions got.
Unlike what I told Violet that day as we left that horror house.
“It’s not true. They’re both lying,” I said as we stopped by my bike.
She hugged me, her arms unsteady, her body trembling slightly against me, her breathing heavy on my chest.
And I couldn’t hug her back.
Because why the fuck would she feel sorry for me?
It was rage, I suppose. Not only at myself, but at her for whispering, “It’s okay if it hurts. I’m here for you.”
No one’s ever been there for me.
Not even the one person who I thought loved me unconditionally.
Definitely not Regis, despite his warped sense of grandiosity about saving me.
He still tortured me for Vencor, still was absent and had not one ounce of fatherly affection for me. My mother might have been mentally unwell, but she loved me and doted on me when she was herself.
Regis can say whatever the fuck he wants, but I’ve always been the spare to Julian’s genius—and a family like ours need spares.
So Violet saying those words while hugging me grated on my last nerve.
I pushed her away and shook her by the shoulders. “How long are you going to continue being naïve, Violet? You’re supposed to be enraged and feel wronged that I targeted you and made your life fucking hell for witnessing a murder that turned out to be a suicide. You’re supposed to slap and punch me and call me a fucking piece of shit.”
She had tears in her eyes, shiny droplets that shimmered under the driveway’s lights. When she opened her mouth, a low whisper escaped her. “I don’t want that.”
“Then what the fuck do you want?”
“For you to process your pain, Jude. I’ve been learning a lot about unprocessed trauma lately, and while I don’t claim to be an expert, I know the first step to dealing with it is accepting it.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I sidestepped her. “You know nothing about my life, so don’t bring your hopeless idealism into this equation just because you learned some fancy psychological garbage.”
“That’s not—”
I drove away before she could finish her sentence. Seeing her gentle expression and feeling how goddamn forgiving she is made me even more enraged at myself.
Because that made me think I could’ve met her under different circumstances. Like after that time she gave me her blue umbrella and protein bar, whispering, “Stay strong.”
But we didn’t start like that.
I stalked her.
Invaded her privacy.
I killed a man right before her eyes to terrorize her.
I pushed her far enough that she chose a coma and the possibility of death instead of me.
And no matter how much I’ve liked to gloss over those facts these last couple of weeks, nothing can erase them.
And now, I’ve found out the reason I did all of that was a lie all this time.
Violet didn’t ask for any of this.
And yet she got me as her fucking grim reaper.
I lift my head to the stands, searching for her fiery hair and bright-blue eyes, but I only see Dahlia and her former roommate. Both are wearing Vipers jerseys and cheering the team on.