Page 61 of Sticks & Serpents

“Still clinging to her, are you?”

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as I forced myself to keep walking. No way was I letting her get to me—not tonight. I could feel the heat rising within me, a familiar anger igniting at the mere mention of Holly’s name. It was always there, simmering beneath the surface.

I reached the bottom of the staircase and paused only briefly before turning back to face her. “What do you want from me?” My voice came out low and dangerous, though deep down I felt that familiar knot tightening in my stomach.

She stood there, poised and confident as ever, wine glass still in hand like a trophy of victory. “You know exactly what this is about,” she said softly, her tone dripping with false concern. “Your father’s name carries weight here—your actions affect us all.”

“Is that what you’re worried about? Your precious reputation?” I shot back, irritation bubbling over. The façade of control she tried so hard to maintain grated on me.

“Don’t be foolish,” she replied, her voice losing its warmth. “Holly is not just some distraction for you to indulge in. She’s a liability.”

I turned away again, heart racing as my thoughts spiraled back to Holly—the way she looked at me with those fierce hazel eyes that both ignited desire and drove me mad with frustration. She was everything this family despised: wild and free-spirited.

But then she stood, moving toward me with that perfect, predatory grace that always sent a chill down my spine.

“You know she’s not good for you, don’t you?” Her voice dripped with condescension. “She makes you weak.”

I turned sharply, anger igniting in my chest like a match struck against a wall. “Say her name again, and I’ll make you regret it.”

My mother halted in front of me, too close, invading my space with that air of superiority she carried like armor. A perfectly manicured hand rose slowly, fingers skimming the side of my jaw.

I stiffened at the contact; the revulsion was instant. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to step back, to escape the suffocating familiarity of her touch. It was as if the warmth she offered was laced with poison, and I refused to let her slip under my skin again.

“Damien,” she said softly, almost sweetly. “You need to understand what this could cost us. You can’t afford to let someone like her distract you.”

I felt my pulse quicken as I fought against the urge to shove her away. She didn’t get it—could never understand what Holly meant to me. She was wild and untamed in ways I found intoxicating, not a weakness to be exploited or discarded.

“She’s not a distraction,” I bit out through clenched teeth. “She’s everything.”

A smirk played on her lips as if she reveled in our back-and-forth game of wills. “Everything? Or just your latest obsession? Surely you don't love her more than your own mother?"

The question hung between us like a noose tightening around my throat. I wanted to retort, to show her how little she knew about me and Holly, but I found myself at an impasse. My mother always had a way of pushing all my buttons—flaunting my vulnerabilities while pretending to care.

“I won’t let you use her against me,” I declared firmly, willing myself not to show any weakness as her fingers lingered longer than necessary.

“Oh sweet boy,” she murmured softly, tilting her head slightly as if studying me beneath a microscope. “You’re already too far gone.”

I felt the familiar tightening in my chest, the way her presence twisted my insides like a vise. Memories of childhood rushed back, memories I tried to bury deep beneath layers of anger and chaos. Her love always came with strings attached, a suffocating embrace that made my skin crawl.

She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with a knowingness that unsettled me. “So tense, Damien.”

I ground my teeth, willing myself to stay calm. It wasn’t easy; she had this way of prying open old wounds, digging into places I’d rather keep hidden.

“You were always such a good boy,” she continued, the words sliding off her tongue like honey but tasting bitter in my mouth. The mockery hung in the air between us, thick and oppressive.

My vision tunneled as I fought against the onslaught of memories: her cold touch tracing down my back when I had tried to follow orders, each brush of her fingers reminding me of how far I’d fallen from that innocent boy who sought approval at any cost.

Breathing sharpened, each inhale becoming more difficult than the last. I couldn’t be here—couldn’t stand another second under this roof filled with ghosts that echoed through every corner. The walls seemed to close in around me as if they too were complicit in this twisted game.

“Damien?” Her voice cut through the haze like a knife.

I swallowed hard, battling against the urge to scream. To run. The weight of her gaze pressed down on me like lead, anchoring me to a past I despised yet couldn’t escape.

“Just... stop.” The words came out low and gravelly, barely above a whisper.

She smiled then—a small, infuriating smile that felt like ice running through my veins. It was a reminder that no matter how hard I fought to break free from her grasp, she always found a way back into my head.

I couldn’t be in this house—not with her watching every move I made like a hawk sizing up its prey. Every step felt calculated; every interaction weighed against some unseen scale where love equated to control and affection morphed into manipulation.

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