Page 91 of Wanted
“What are you saying, Weston?” Kamila was red all over.
“He’s full of shit. That’s what I’m saying. In what world would Aram ever do such a thing? Children in sex punishment houses? Are you listening to yourselves? All he wants is to be famous. He can’t be famous and beloved if he allows child abuse. Katantia has strict laws. They are enforced, and those that disobey get punished.”
♥♠♥
Weston parked the Wraith in the garage. Turning the engine off, he picked up the key, and he left the car. Instead of exiting, I remained inside, reflecting on Fylox as a child, being held captive in Katantia. I caressed my belly, the emptiness that would never fill, and a tear escaped my eyes. Fylox tried so hard to fit in with the rest of us. He and Kamila fought the same battle. Basic human decency had been stolen from them. I didn’t want to know what went on in Fylox’s head. Kamila understood him better than anyone. I was happy for her. Perhaps, they could help each other out. Maybe they were already doing that. Kamila and I hadn’t been able to speak in private yet.
“Will you sit there for another half an hour, or can we go inside now?” Weston asked, still furious about Kamila’s new situation.
I shook my head, taking the suffocating seatbelt off. I flinched at the pain the small move caused me. Weston had already opened the door for me, so I slid out of the car with little trouble. Once my feet touched the ground, I felt an internal tug, the worst stretch of pain. The earlier tears morphed into full-on sobbing. I turned away from Weston, not wanting to fall apart in front of him.
“Let’s go inside,” Weston suggested in a softer tone. He put a gentle hand on my shoulder, trying to animate me to move into the house.
“I don’t want your help,” I replied in a stubborn mutter.
“You have it anyway. I’ll make you tea, and I’ll order food. What are you craving today?” Weston asked, seemingly a new person. Tears softened Weston up. In his head, he had this fragile image of me. It pained me that this was who I had become. This surgery had taken so much. I’d never bear my own child. I spent years trying to get pregnant for Manuel. He wanted to settle down. Come to think of it, his infertility cost me my children. If he had just impregnated me, my surgery wouldn’t matter now.
They managed to freeze some of my eggs. That was that. I doubted that it would amount to anything.
Perhaps Aram was right that I had lost my purpose. My father wasn’t my biological father. My feelings were all over the place. War was bound to happen, and the closer it got, the more convinced I was that my father wasn’t done with my role as a trojan horse yet. His plans reeked of ego and greed.
“Mandy?”
“Can’t you just leave me alone?”
“No.”
“I want to be alone,” I insisted.
“So, you’ve said.”
“You brought me here without a choice. The least you could do is leave me in peace.” I sobered up, patting my cheeks dry. Without glancing at him, I stormed off. I was in Kamila’s room in less than ten seconds.
Shutting the door, I crawled into bed, fully clothed. I pressed my face against the pillow, and I whimpered. Every move I made reminded me of everything I’d lost.
Even crying hurt, and that made me cry harder.
A soft knock on the door made me twitch.
“Can I come in?”
I scoffed at the question because Weston didn’t require my permission. He’d enter anyway.
And he did, but he remained by the door, thankfully.
“I can talk to Mrs. Bengtsson and see if she can give you more medication for the pain,” Weston offered. He cared. I had to admit that he cared. He’d left the palace when I came out of surgery, and he hadn’t looked back. He tried to keep up with it all; the clothes, the attitude, and the voice. But he wasn’t the Weston I’d first met anymore. This was a Weston that desperately needed to play the hero. He required it like the air he needed to breathe.
Too bad that I couldn’t be saved.
“I can’t keep doing this for much longer. It’s like I’m talking to a wall,” Weston said. I didn’t want to look at him. I knew he had unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt in the Wraith on the drive here. I knew his hair was disheveled from all the times he’d absently run his hand through it. I knew that one look at his face right now would crack me open for him, welcoming him back when there was nothing left for him to take.
“Maybe I should off myself. Then you’ll know exactly what it feels like to talk to a wall.” The menacing words left my mouth in a triumph, but a bitter aftertaste lingered.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
I remained quiet.
“You dare speak of suicide when we spent most of our lives thinking our mothers killed themselves?”
