Page 98 of The Diávolos: Part Two
“What made them let me go?” I ask, my face now ashen.
“After five years, when you were almost a teenager, your father felt it was time for you to go back to the real world and start high school. Because of all the drugs, your memory got impaired, and you suffered from amnesia. You lost your short- and long-term memory. Ironically, this saved your father from having to explain what happened to you. And the doctors assured him that you’d bounce back from the meds.”
I spring off the couch and walk away, attempting to regain some composure. My guts are threatening to expel out of my mouth. Evander follows me, and I flinch when he touches my arms. My tear-stained face already feels puffy and swollen. I want to scream and kick everything I see. I don’t think I have ever felt this kind of anguish, even when mymamasuddenly died.
My father has been feeding me lies ever since I was old enough to understand. Has he ever told me the truth?
When I began getting questions from my friends, more specifically Aria and Gianis, about my time away, I had no answers for them. All I knew was the garbage my father had told me. And it. Was. All. A. Lie.
I was led to think that I’d spent those five years with family in Greece, and when I asked mybabawhy I couldn’t remember anything, he told me it was from the grief I’d felt from losing my mother. He made me believe that going throughsuch a traumatic loss to that level had been enough to wipe my memories.
I was scared about having no recollection of a chunk of my childhood, but I trusted my father.
I fucking trusted him.
My broken heart weighs so heavily on me, I can barely make myself move, much less feel.
Dropping to my knees in front of the lit fireplace, I curl into myself and sob, grabbing onto my chest to try and soothe the ache.
Evander crouches next to me and covers my body with his arms, creating a safe shelter for me to break down in. I can feel his body vibrating with fury.
“Why didn’t anyone else do something to help her? She was a child!” he growls.
“There’s nothing—” Lydia begins to say.
But Evan doesn’t let her finish. “When there’s a will, there’s a fucking way, Ms. Kouris,” he spits out. “And everyone who didn’t help her, who stood by and helped Peter, all deserve to go down with him.”
In any other circumstance, I’d try to reason with Evander, but he’s right. Anyone who didn’t try to help end the Sisterhood is guilty. There were too many bystanders.
Once again, my decision to end my father and his business solidifies.
I walk into the penthouse, still distraught.
No one is here, Evander dropped me off to go deal with something, but I don’t mind the solitude. I need to sit with my thoughts for a while.
Stepping into the bathroom, hoping to wash away the turmoil that bubbles inside of me, I take a good look at myself in the mirror.
In front of me is a once powerless woman. A woman who has been oppressed, neglected. But despite the many ordeals in her life, she still stands.
I continue staring at my reflection as a tear travels down my cheek. I’m sad. Not for myself, but for the woman I once was. For my mother who never got tolive. For my father who knew better but did nothing to change.
I grieve. For my mother’s death, for my father’s lost soul—but mainly for my old self.
Sometimes, we need to mourn the person we used to be to become the person we’re capable of being.
As I stand under the scalding water for God knows how long, my tears mix with the droplets of water that fall on my face. I don’t hear when the bathroom door opens, so I startle when I hear it shut. I turn around to see Evander walking straight toward me.
“Evander, you shouldn’t be—” I attempt to say, but I get distracted when I see him strip out of his clothes. “What are you doing?” I ask as he steps in the shower behind me.
I don’t want him to see me crying, so I face away from him.
His hands find my shoulders, and I wince. But not out of repulsion. It’s the complete opposite. Any time Evan touches me, it causes a jolt of energy through my body.
He lets his hands travel up my neck, goosebumps breaking out on my skin, and turns me around. I can’t stop the tears from falling even harder as his eyes bore deep into my soul.
“Talk to me, angel,” he says, his tone gentle and soft. The opposite of how he looks right now, strong and intimidating, as if ready to kill everyone who ever hurt me.
He swipes the tears off my cheeks with his thumbs. “Let me make it better.”
