Page 18 of Not Today, Satan
I clutch the book so hard the paper slices my fingertips, but I welcome the sting.
It could’ve been her choice to abandon me here. Maybe she begged him to take me away. She took one look at me and knew I belonged in Hell.
My knuckles whiten as I tighten my grip on the book. Did Father take me away from my mother, or was he protecting mefromher? Whatever the answer, I should’ve been told. He had no right to keep this from me. To stash her away like a dirty little secret. He should’ve given me the choice to decide for myself.
I let out a guttural scream that scrapes my throat and echoes off the walls. It’s a good thing Father’s room is soundproofed, or the souldiers outside would come running. My body heats and tears coat my eyelashes, but I yell until my chest aches and my voice is hoarse.
Nothing I believed about myself is true. How could he do this to me?
The scent of burning paper hits my nose, breaking my screams. I glance down and swear loudly. Mr. Bellum cautioned me about my temper in the past, explained how my emotions are directly linked to my ability to control fire, and that anger is the strongest emotion of all.
And now my fury is devouring my mother.
Taking deep breaths, I force my body to calm until the flames withdraw into my palms. I drop the book on the ground and stomp on it, but it’s too late. The cover’s melted, contorting the letters of my mother’s name into an unreadable gold mass, and the pages are singed black, some destroyed beyond recognition.
Father’s going to kill me.
Maybe he won’t notice?
Right.A demon with zero sentimentality won’t notice the one book he kept under his freaking pillow is now burned to ash.
I pick up what’s left of the book with trembling hands, searching for any way to salvage it. The only thing that’s still intact is the last page. The most recent photo of my mother is tinged brown around the edges but still clear.
I rip the picture off the page and shove it into my pocket with the Nathan Reynolds photo.
My stomach heaves again as I take in my blackened fingertips and dress painted with ash. I can be angry at Father all I want, but that doesn’t erase what I’ve done, and his wrath puts mine to shame. Father doesn’t forget or forgive. It’s the one honest thing about him.
The walls shake as the front door slams, and heavy footsteps echo in the hall. My heart nearly stops. I know that tread. No one else walks like Father.
There’s nowhere for me to go. Father doesn’t have a closet in this room. He keeps his clothes in a massive walk-in closet down the hall.
My breathing is ragged, my heart battling Father’s footsteps for domination in my ears.
He can’t find me. Not until I figure out how to fix this.
I drop to the floor and roll beneath his bed with a grunt, raking the ashes with me.
The door squeaks on its hinges as he enters the room. He staggers with heavy steps that shake the ground. I hold my breath. The bed groans and bows toward me when Father lies down, and I flatten myself into the carpet as much as possible to avoid being squished, biting my lips as my boobs press into my rib cage.
Please don’t look for the book, please don’t look for the book.
If he finds it gone before I get out of here, I’m done for. He’ll tear this place apart to find it, and instead he’ll find me. The daughter he’s lied to his entire life. The daughter who betrayed him by burning the evidence. The daughter who is half of what he hates most.
He must be too tired to go down memory lane, however, as his snores permeate the walls in seconds. The bed shakes above me, sending vibrations through my entire body. I wait a few more minutes, then inch out of my hiding spot, wincing as the rug burns my knees and forearms. Standing, I take deep breaths until the room comes into focus.
Father lets out a snort and rolls over, sending my heart into my throat. The remains of the book are still under the bed, but I’m not going back to get them.
Bolting out of the room, I slow only to close his door. Then I take off again.
I run the entire way to my quarters, practically tumbling down the hill, ignoring the souldiers who call out to see if I’m okay. I don’t stop until I’m in my room.
I stand in front of the mirror and use the skirt of my dress to wipe the dirt off my face and hands before collapsing on my bed.
Closing my eyes, I breathe slowly until my heart no longer threatens to escape my chest.
The photos are still in my pocket, and I pull them out and place them beside each other on the bed.
I still can’t get over how much my mother looks like me.
