Page 67 of Promise to Break

"Let me guess. No matter what I say, you'll tell me who I really am?"

Her phone is out of order in the galleries, and every photo looks horribly random. From photos with Ronen, Julian, Pedro and Raven. None with her sister. The only pictures she took of Serena was where the older sister didn't see her doing so. Given how much she loves Serena, their relationship seems rather cold and aloof.

I see pictures of snails, raindrops, and gray skies over people she doesn't even know. People I don't even know. I flip from one to the next and eventually stumble on pictures of me as well. I don't know when she took them, but every few days, a picture of me appears among all the others.

In one of the photos, I'm looking at Liam, who's laughing at me and Kai, holding the Russian pastry that he loves. I remember this day. It was after we went to bury the boy my father murdered for no reason. My and Kai's anger had no outlet while Liam, as Liam tends to do, tried to make us laugh.

I have never seen myself from such an angle. I look distant, yet relaxed. My hand rests on the table and plays with one roll served to us with homemade butter while I try my best to hide my laughter.

"people can't testify for who they are," I answer her, and she knows what I'm looking at. Yet again, she doesn't stop me. "We have a perception of who we are, but the reality is multidimensional. You see yourself from the inside out, thinking you know how bad or good you are based on your thoughts and feelings, but I see you from the outside in. I see what you do. Your actions, but I can't hear your inner struggle. As an observer, I can only see what you choose to do. It's what society does. They perceive who a person is regardless of the turmoil inside his head. So, tell me, Maricela, who are you in your own inner world?"

"A survivor, a life stealer, a petty person, a terrible friend."

I hand her the phone back, and she takes it. Our fingers touch and linger in midair, not letting go for the longest time. "You're blind to yourself, Maricela Fernandez. None of those things are true. Well, maybe the first thing is the absolute truth. You are a survivor, a strong one at that. Just look at you. You don't let anyone dictate your life. You dress like you want and make your own money while surrounded by rich assholes who have never known a financial struggle in their lives, and more than that, they probably created financial struggles for other people. You don't let your sister buy you gifts, and I know my brother has tried to give you everything." Santino's generosity is meant to control her, and I don't tell her that, but I think she knows. "You made yourself useful in a place filled with people who couldn't care less about you because of how you choose to dress and work. You could tell Santino I made your life hell, fuck, you could have gone to my father, but you didn't."

"I get it," she says, trying to stop me, but I don't relent.

"No. I don't think you do. You think the worse of yourself when you're one of the kindest, best people I've ever had the chance to meet."

She shakes her head. "That's only because you haven't had the chance to be around many people. I'm none of those things." She sighs, turns away from the view and puts her phone away before wrapping her arms around her torso. "I did very bad stuff when I was at the House of Dreams. You know, the orphanage."

"Okay, I'll bite. Tell me what was so terrible that you did?"

"Killian—" she begs, but I don't let her off the hook. She needs this.

"No, you tell me what makes you a monster because I can tell you here and now that you don't know what an actual monster is capable of. You know what? Fuck that. We have time. Strip."

Chapter twenty-six

Maricela

Ever since Killian Fierro stopped being my bully and became this man in front of me, I've felt as if I'm an actor in one of Pedro Almodovar's movies.

Killian's persistence in seeing something in me that isn't there is outstanding. Maybe to a killer, I am a good person. I haven't killed anyone, but I know if push comes to shove, I will. I don't even think I'll feel much remorse about it, either.

"Strip?" I say, repeating his order and wondering about his sanity. I'm pretty sure this man is absolutely batshit crazy.

I thought what was done to me by his lackeys was a higher level of crazy, but I was proven wrong when he came to my dorm room to jerk off like a creep. Then he fucked me after nearly drowning, just to take me to his house after humiliating my asshole of a professor. It's like no matter what I do, he finds a new way to twist me. I wonder how crazy I am to do the exact thing he tells me to. No, ordered me to. Killian isn't one to ask for a single thing.

He gets what he wants, and he wants me naked. It's April, but the temperature is in the low sixties, and from this height, the wind bites at my legs and swirls around us. Still, I comply.

Killian is right. Since this turnaround in him, he's never done a thing I didn't agree to. So, what the fuck does that say about me?

"That's a good little girl." He touches my cheek so reverently, so gently, I melt a little inside. I didn't even notice that he'd come closer. He's never far these days, as if he needs to make sure everyone knows I'm his property.

"Leave your shirt on," he says as I pull it over my head. "I need just your pussy today."

The way he talks makes me shiver even more.

"Those perfect lips are freezing. We need to warm them up, don't you think?"

Any retort I have to give him is utterly futile as he pokes the tip of his tongue into my entrance.

"How is it that you're already wet? Such a good little girl."

Bracing myself against the wall, I stare at him from above as he continues torturing the same tender spot. He doesn't fuck me with his tongue. No. He just licks and pokes and pulls back. Again and again. It's maddening how much I want him to eat me. To fuck me. To make me forget.

"You're going to be punished today," He tells me between licks.