Page 115 of Hawthorne

My whole life was a lie.

All those times when I wished this place was all mine—instead of just being one more charity case inside this wealthy society—come rushing to my mind as betrayal breaks my heart into a million pieces.

I was never on borrowed kindness because thisisall mine.

It’s turning my brain upside-down, tying knots in my stomach as I finally realise the consequences of this truth.

My life was a lie, and everyone I loved and trusted lied to me.

How am I supposed to go from here? What do I even do with this information? If the people closest to me were never reliable, how could I even trust anyone else?

And the fact that this could be a deal breaker between Vincent and me.

How would he even react to this information?

Not telling him is not an option, though, but how do I go about this? And can I even trust him?

This is too much.

“What a bloody mess,” I mutter to myself, and Primrose whines in distress as if feeling exactly what I am experiencing. “What do I do, sweet girl? This is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode in my face.”

Her yellowish doe eyes stare back at me. If only I held all the answers of the universe in my hands. Little does the universe know, I can’t even take a breath in without doubting myself.

“Whatever path I choose, no one wins. I certainly don’t.”

Petting her gives me some sort of comfort, but it still is not enough to prevent the fat tears from rolling down my face as I finally let all the emotions take over.

My body shakes uncontrollably as Primrose cries in distress, nestling more into me.

“Oh, god,” I gasp for air as a sob clogs my throat.

Love is not kind and absolute. It is not pure and heart-warming.

Love is messy and treacherous. It builds you up with illusions of happiness and tenderness only to shatter them afterwards.

The feeling of loneliness I had after Aunt Lizzie’s death is nothing compared to this. Because the feeling of betrayal that is nestling inside my heart is only showing me that I was alone long before they left me… The realisation is gut-wrenching.

That I can’t count on anyone but myself.

35

Camilla White

“I’ve had enough,” Vincent’s growl startles me before the door slamming could.

“What?” I whisper, shocked at his explosive attitude as he storms into my bedroom, scaring both my baby girl and me.

She runs to her bed, hiding from the angered beast that has just entered my safe place.

“What the fuck is going on? And we won’t leave this fucking room until you’re completely honest with me. It’s been two fucking months of dodging me and avoiding telling me what’s bothering you.”

It’s true. Tomorrow is his mother’s birthday, and ever since I read that letter a couple of months ago, I have been avoiding him as much as I can. I had hoped he hadn’t noticed, but who am I kidding? I saw it in his eyes plenty of times.

First, the worry. I’ve lost count of the time that Vincent has asked me what’s wrong…

Then, came frustration…It has been useful in the bedroom with the angry sex rendezvous, providing us with wild, memorable nights. But I have been able to escape so far.

And while I haven’t been able to hide the fact that something is wrong, I don’t want to get into it, so I answer, “Vincent.” I sigh. “Nothing–”

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