Page 172 of The Wicked
I bit the inside of my lip. “He didn’t do anything that I didn’t want. At least I thought I wanted it because I thought he—loved me.”
I looked at him, expecting to find his eyes judging me, but there was nothing; he just listened.
“But he didn’t love you,” Elio said, gently urging me to divulge more.
“Maybe he did… in his own weird way, but it was unhealthy. I was underage, and he was an adult—and I was stupid to think it was real from my end. Manuel was obsessed at best. I started living when I left him.”
“When was that.”
“I was nineteen.”
“And he just let you go?”
“Yeah,” I said, finally looking at him. “He woke up one morning and told me that I was free to leave if I wanted to.”
“Did you want to?”
I shrugged. “At that time, I didn’t really know—it took me a month to make the decision to leave. I needed to find myself, you know. He didn’t give me any money to fend for myself when I left, and I was stubborn as hell, so I just told myself that I would be able to do it, and well, here I am, in bed with the guy who kidnapped my family and me.”
Elio didn’t say anything; he just stared, eyes deciphering, cutting down each of my words, looking for loose ends, anything that would signify a lie.
“Hm. You still have your freedom.”
“In a twisted, fucked-up way, yeah.”
It was quiet for a while, and then he spoke. “I have a vague idea of what it feels like to have your freedom taken from you. I had mine taken when I left for the army.”
“Why did you leave?”
“My father. He thought I was going crazy like Mother, so he forced it on me. I was nineteen. He wanted to rid me of my depression, and to him, the army was the answer. I respected him too much to say no. I had to leave everyone I loved behind… It was horrible out there.” His throat bobbed. “When I came back, they, I didn’t get there on time, the fire—my mother—she—my siblings—well, they were gone.”
Something melted inside me. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
He nodded. “Going to the army… it didn’t just take awaymy freedom; it took my family, destroyed what was left of it, and it was all because my father thought I was crazy.”
I frowned. “He was the crazy one,” I said, then paused. “Wait—is this by any chance the reason you left Devil?”
He nodded. “There would have been no one to take care of him when I left for the army. I couldn’t trust anyone, not even Casmiro. So I had to send him away.”
“But it was only for a year, right? You could have reached out when you got back.”
“I wanted to. I went to Los Angeles a few months after I got back. I watched him from afar for a few days. He was happy, or he seemed happy and normal. I didn’t want to ruin that. So, I left and have watched him from afar ever since.”
“Then tell him this; I’m sure he wouldn’t hate you as much as he does now. Devil might be stubborn, but he’s understanding, and deep down, I know he cares for you.”
“I don’t want him to. I can’t be there for him. I can’t promise to be when I know I might not live past thirty-three.”
My frown deepened. “Don’t fucking say things like that.”
“Does it upset you?”
I shot him a look of disbelief. “Yes, it does.”
“Then I’ll stop.”
“You’ll stop thinking it too?”
“I am afraid that is impossible. It’s not something I can control.”
