Page 300 of Satan's Spawn
My ego is bruised. But not bad enough to keep the Little Ghost I need to see waiting.
Dad’s eyebrows sinch together, over the antics too. “I still can’t wrap my head around why the hell that little shit or his Dad didn’t press charges after it happened.”
See, but I know all too well. It was made clear a few days after the verdict.
When I received an anonymous letter with no return address, stating “I would’ve kept protecting you, baby, but you forced my hand.”
My guess is…Alexis had her Dad ask the Crimson familynicelyto back the fuck off his daughter’s precious toy.
That is, until I threw her over the edge with shows of affection toward Rebecca. The ones she sought after for years from me with no return.
I mean…what better way is there to punish—without killing—the guy you’re psychotically obsessed with than to keep him apart from the girlhe’spsychotically obsessed with?
“Don’t fucking matter now. One is dead and the other is mourning the death balls deep inside your ex wife.”
My father blinks at me for a few seconds. “Let’s hope the time behind bars fixes that broken filter of yours, too.”
We both share a laugh at each other's expense. Then when the laughter dies down, I reach for the decanter on the table, pouring a small amount of whiskey in the double matching glasses. I hand Dad his before picking up mine.
Raising the glass, I clear my throat, getting ready for the bullshit joke I intend to crack when he raises his too.
After a few fleeting moments of nothing, my father grows eager to hear what I’m about to say. Almost as if he’s looking for proof that he's done something right.
The pain, the fear, the hope is written clear across his face as he holds his breath for the answer to so many of his questions.
Will I return to him?
End up happy?
End up whole?
They’re all part of the grand fucking plan, but only time can tell the truth. And it starts right now.
I tip the glass. “Here’s to the devil that goes, and the man who comes out.”
Rebecca
“Hey, baby.” Mom’s voice has me darting my attention toward the door, where she’s fiddling with her fingers.
“Hey, Mom.” I give her a quizzical look before going back to searching the floor for one of my flip flops.
“Can we talk?”
No good ever comes from a nervous Nina wanting to talk.
“What’s up?”
She ambles over, sitting next to me on the mattress.
“Before I say what I’m going to say, I need you to know I would never want to keep you from happiness.”
There’s a “but” in there somewhere.
“But…as your mother I feel it’s my duty to tell you I think you’re making a huge mistake.”
I throw my head back. “We’re not doing this again, Mom. I’ve made my decision.”
She turns to face me, determined. “Bex, we’re talking five years of your life.”
