Page 30 of The Diávolos: Part Two
“Angelica,” Evander begins, his voice hesitant. My eyes search, unsure what I’m looking for. I take a deep breath, my chest constricting with the anticipation of his words. “There’s no easy way to say this, but…Peter is responsible for the Sisterhood. Your family founded the establishment and he’s been leading it ever since your grandfather stepped down. Peter has allowed little girls to be taken from their families and groomed for older men. He’s responsible for all of it.”
My face contorts, the world suddenly crashing over me like a tidal wave.
“I don’t understand…mybaba?” My voice quivers. I always knew he was up to no good, butthis? No. It can’t be.
Evander moves closer to me, his arms instinctively reaching out to embrace me, but I stand there, tears streaming down my face. He stills before putting down his arms with a sigh.
“When he first took over, he became the Dean. I’m assuming it was around that time he met your mother. Over the years, he’s had a less active role, but he never resigned, never shut it down. Instead, he kept using it as a way to make more money,” Evan explains, his own voice laced with sorrow.
My sobs echo through the hushed room. “I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with this on top of everything else! I’m already trying to figure out how my entire life crumbled as a child, and now this! H-how am I supposed to handle it all?” I cry, my breathing becoming more erratic by the second.
I blink once, twice, three times, but my vision is tunneled and blurry. I twist out of Evan’s reach and shake out my hands a few times to get rid of the tingling sensation building in my body, but it’s to no use. I touch my wrist to grab my elastic band, but it’s not there. It’s not fucking there.Shit, shit, shit.
I internally curse my therapist for convincing me that self-harming isn’t a healthy way to cope with my pain. The rigid scars around my wrist are a constant reminder of the struggle I’ve lived with most of my life.
I try to breathe, but air gets stuck in my lungs and lightheadedness settles in.
The walls of this rather large room feel as if they’re closing in on me.
“Get me out, get me out!” I’m not sure if I said the words out loud or screamed them in my head. I can’t focus on anything but the pounding in my chest. I hear voices—Evander and Gianis. Then, a light touch on my arm. I swat it away. “Leave me!”
I need to sit. Where can I sit? The floor. Where’s the wall? I reach out to find something hard to brace myself on, and I comein contact with something solid. This might not be a wall, but I don’t care right now. I need to get off my feet.
I hear Gianis—I think—yelling.
I sink to the floor, the solid surface I’m holding on to helps me down, leaving me to melt onto the cold concrete beneath me. I begin to cry. I don’t know if it’s from the panic or out of humiliation.
I curl into a ball and hug my legs tightly. “I need to feel pain,” I repeat over and over again until someone picks me off the floor, and I bury my face into their chest. The smell is familiar, homey. Gianis. His arms feel safe—but they’re not quite likehis.
Gianis rubs my back as he walks me out of the room. “Shhh,mikrí mou, no pain.” I’m still crying into his shirt, but as the seconds tick by, I start to calm down more and more.
Where is Evander?
As if he can read my mind, he murmurs, “I’m right here,angeloúdi mou.”
There’s some commotion in the background, but I don’t dare open my eyes. My cheeks heat as I recall Hendrick and Sebastian also being here and probably seeing my breakdown as Gianis carries me somewhere else.
“This way,” Evan directs Gianis. “Put her down here.”
Next thing I know, I’m slowly being lowered onto a plush surface.
My lids open, and I’m met with my best friend’s green eyes. “Thank you,” I croak as I attempt to swallow with a dry throat.
Evander walks back into the room and hands me a bottle of water. “Are you okay, angel?”
“She’ll be fine,” Gianis replies.
“I askedherthe question,” Evan barks.
My hands fly to my temples. Dammit. Here comes the post-anxiety headache. “Please. Can you give me a minute? Alone.”
Both men hesitate for a second, but back out of the room.
Once the door is shut behind them, I sink further into the mattress.
The weight of the news about mybabapresses down on my chest. The dreadful revelation of him being behind the Sisterhood—what the institution actually does—shatters whatever positive portrayal I still held of him. How could this be true? Every time I learn something new about him, it’s never good, and it overshadows the images of my happy childhood beforeMamapassed away, the cherished memories we had built together. Now, they’re overcast by darkness.
I thought I could handle all of this change in my life. I was under the impression that I was getting better, not needing to resort to my stupid elastic band that had been holding me hostage all these years.
