Page 84 of The Diávolos: Part One
“Angelica. Saysomething.”Evan runs a hand through his hair, and I hear him release a breath of frustration. “You’ve barely said a word since I got here.”
“What do you want me to say, Evander?” I sigh.
I’m so conflicted. On one hand, I never want to speak to him again, and on the other, I want to give us a chance. After basically being forced to listen to his side of the story, I learned of his true intentions and how things supposedly changed once he met me. But he hasn’t apologized, yet. Although I still can’t forgive him, I understand where he was coming from. Losing someone you love leaves a hole in your heart, and Evan lost four important people in his life. I can’t imagine how much grief he must be feeling. If I found out who was truly responsible for my mother’s death, I would probably plot my revenge, too. But it doesn’t excuse what he did to me.
“I thought I told you not to call me ‘Evander’ anymore,” he says.
I frown at him. “But that’s your actual name.”
“To everyone else, not you,” he replies, sternly. I roll my eyes. I wiggle out of his hold and he lets me go. I get off the couch and retrieve my underwear off the kitchen floor.
When I get back to the living room, he’s sitting up and his gaze goes to my wrists. “Tell me about that,” he says, pointing to them. I hesitate.
“It’s nothing.”
“It can’t be, Angelica. You hurt yourself,” he retorts.
I decide to be honest, not wanting to follow in his footsteps and continue the chain of lies. “It started when I was around twelve years old. Mybaba’scronies would come in and out of the house regularly. It was just after my mom died and I always felt so unsafe. One day, a creepy man who’d come to see my father scared me. I ran to my room and had my first anxiety attack. I didn’t know how else to take the pain away, so I began to use the elastic band as a way to cope. Our housekeeper, Eldora, tried to talk to my father about my troubles, but he wouldn’t listen. So, here we are.” I take a large inhale and puff out the air.
Evan’s face turns red, his eyes darken. “Peter is not going to get away with this. How could he let his daughter suffer?”
“I was no longer his child at that point. Something had shifted between us, and I never knew why. One day he was a doting parent, the next he acted like he was disgusted by me. He wouldn’t talk to me. I grew up thinking he hated me, until I started hating him back. I’d have nightmares or flashes of memories about being stuck in a strange place, and anytime I brought them up to him, he’d just dismiss me.”
Evan’s face goes white as a ghost’s. “Tell me more about those flashbacks,” he demands.
I don’t have it in me to say anything more. I need to remove myself from this situation. “I’m going to take a shower,” I say as I walk through the hallway toward the stairs.
“We aren’t done talking.”
“Well,I’mdone talking, Evander.”
“The fuck you are, Angelica.”
He’s angry, but I don’t care. He can’t just come here, demand forgiveness, and expect me to give it to him, as if he deserves it. Things have already gone too far.
I walk into the bathroom after grabbing a change of clothes, and I hear Evan’s heavy steps marching up the stairs. He barges in, his fists clenched.Déjà vu.
“Do not deny me, Angelica.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t own me,” I growl in frustration. “How dare you come here and demand things of me like you didn’t fuck everything up?” My anger suddenly springs back to life as I start shouting at him. “Get off your high horse, Evander, self-entitlement is not cute.” I step closer to him. “You are delusional if you think you deserve my forgiveness. I don’t care who or what you are. Everything that happened between us in these past months means nothing now,” I spit out, hurt and fury mixing together.
Evan looks at me, dumbstruck, and I see the moment rage overtakes him. His jaw muscles clench and I take a step back, fearing what he’s about to do. His eyes darken further. It’s as if he’s entering fight or flight mode, and definitely leaning toward fight.Shit. I recognize this behavior from the masquerade ball. I bet if his anger goes too far, he’ll lose all self-awareness and do something irrational. I scream his name, anticipating what he’s going to do, but I’m too late. He lunges, and for a split second, I think he’s about to pounce at me, but he swings his arm behind me and hits the bathroom mirror, punching right through it and causing the glass to crack under his knuckles.
My hands fly to my mouth, but a sob manages to slip through, and I move out of the way.
His fist is still against the mirror and he’s looking down at the sink, bracing himself on the counter with his other arm as he tries to control his breathing. He’s blacking out, shit.I rush to Evan’s side. Hopefully, if I touch him, he’ll calm down. As I near him, I see blood dripping from his knuckles down the glass, pooling on the counter.
“Evan! Oh, my god,” I cry out in panic. There is so much blood. “Why would you do something so reckless? Look at your hand!” I exclaim. I hurry to the linen closet and grab a towel. I run back to the bathroom and Evan is now shaking and has his eyes closed. I softly place a hand on his arm, but he flinches away from my touch. “Evan, snap out of it. You’re hurt. Please,” I beg him.
He doesn’t move, so I place my hand on the side of his face and caress his cheek. I sense him slowly coming back to reality. After a while, he lets out a sigh and licks his dry lips before speaking.
“Angelica, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t going to hurt you. I—”
“I know, Evan,” I interject. “I know you would never physically hurt me.”
Evan is a bad man, a murderer, but I’m confident he would never lay a finger on me. He is my protector, my safe place. And right now, he needs me.
He lets out a breath as relief washes over him.
