Page 207 of Nemesync
ZANAE
The wind wrapped around us as Elijah, and I rode his motorcycle. Clinging to him, fingers entwined, I thought about what my father had done.
When I was younger, my father hurt me in many ways: physically, emotionally, and spiritually. The results were devastating. I lived with my own source of stress my whole life, and it drastically changed my thought process.
But I forgave him because every little girl needs her father to bloom, and I needed him.
I trained, got smarter, tried my best to be more than a soldier, but it never worked. I almost died, screamed for my dad to come and save me, but he never did.
Then I understood that he was my progenitor, but never my father. His men treated me better than he did. It would be a lie to say that I don’t miss my Lebanese family, my guards, and the people who took me to the beach when I was a child because my father didn’t have the time to. Now he hates me even more than before because I couldn’t take his absence anymore.
He had put a threat on me, not just some kind of rumors; he would have paid people to kill me. How could a father wish forthe death of his only daughter, especially considering he never showed any love when I lived with him?
Resting my head against Elijah’s back, I found calm in the vibrations connecting me to him. I knew that he was trying to protect me, but God knows how difficult it was for me to let him do so.
I knew he felt me waking up sometimes during my sleep, having nightmares and crying. But he would always do the same thing, carefully take me back into his arms, kiss my head, and let me sleep again.
But he was suffering too, and I hated it, I hated it so much.
My beautiful Elijah held me so many nights, he kissed me so many times to reassure me, and I felt so weak from repeating this again and again.
“I love you,” I whispered, but the wind fragmented my words, leaving only this ache in my soul.
He deserved the world, and I wanted to offer it to him. How can you offer the world to someone when your own is torn apart?
I don’t know yet, but I’ll learn how, for him.
I grew up learning to find the will to survive in my own broken pieces, living in the shadows of a father who couldn’t see any light in me.
He never called me pretty, hugged me, or smiled at me. He never smiled at anyone sincerely. But can I blame him for being sick? Can I blame him for being devoid of so many emotions?
I almost felt bad for him, or maybe I envy him for that.
His absence could never be healed, and the emptiness it left is haunting—a fucking regret that will never fade away.Never.
But I had the Devil by my side; and he loved every drop of darkness that flooded my veins.
Somehow, it made me feel less monstrous.
It almost made me feel beautiful enough.
Arriving at Nikolai’s doorstep, he opened the door and behind him I saw my friend and her son.
What the fuck is happening?
Miranda, eyes red from dried tears, holding June asleep in her arms.
I rushed to her side, “Mira, what’s going on? Why are you crying”
She sighed, her voice trembling, “A woman approached June at school, handing him a red letter addressed to his Aunt Zee.”
Nikolai’s eyes flashed with anger and worry for me. “She went too far.”
Elijah’s gaze sharpened; his hand found its way on my back. “What was in the letter?”
Miranda handed the paper with shaky fingers to me, just a quote,‘It’s about time, Zanae.’
I grabbed my phone, and subtly typed a message to Brian, asking her if she had new information about that woman or anything related to those vendettas.
