Page 75 of The Blood we Crave

What would your father think if he saw this, Thatcher? Do you think your father would have done something this dramatic? Would he have even cared?

He easily slept with women. Took them out on dates, walked them to the door and kissed them good night without a second thought, able to come home and cut up her friend if he wanted to.

He’d even fooled Lyra’s mother.

And yet, here I am, losing my mind in the shower after one stupid moment that should have never happened.

He is better than you are.

I let my mind emotionally abuse me back into control, berate myself until I feel restraint flow back into my body, and I pluck her out. When my voice gives out, I take another prolonged moment before forcing the switch in my mind to click back into place.

“One,” I croak, inhaling deeply through my nose, and my head feels light before I exhale. My fingers twist into my hair a little tighter than necessary before releasing it.

“Two.”

Another breath as I tilt my head, hearing the bones crack.

“Three.”

Last one.

When my eyes reopen, I feel the familiar numbness sweep over my shoulders. The indifference settles deep into my bones, allowing me to reach forward and click the button for the rain shower to cease its flowing from the ceiling.

The warm bathmat meets my feet as I step out, reaching for a towel to loop around my waist. I push myself back into autopilot, back into my strict routine where wandering thoughts do not belong.

I take my time as I cleanse my face, patting my skin dry before applying a toner evenly across my cheekbones. By the time I get to the moisturizing, everything feels normal again.

As normal as my life can be.

Meeting my gaze in the mirror, I stare at the reflection of the monster my father created. One that I’d crafted into something far more than even his wildest dreams but still his little Frankenstein.

“You have no emotion. You are unfeeling and just. If you feel, you kill it. You will be perfect, Alexander. You must.”

I wish the narrator in my mind would download an unfamiliar voice, one that doesn’t sound exactly like my father. Or maybe it’s a repressed memory resurfacing to remind me of what my role in life is.

Either way, I’ll be shoving my breakdown to the back of my mind and pretending it never happened. Because, for all intents and purposes, it didn’t. The next time I have to deal with Lyra, I’ll be telling her this agreement is over.

I don’t care if she begs and offers me her heart on a silver platter to eat.

I am done. With the teaching, her obsession with me, all of it.

She will go back to being irrelevant to my life, and I will continue to erase her bit by bit until it’s as if she never made it out of that closet in the first place.

I’m pulling the dark green cashmere sweater over my head when I hear a gentle knock at the door. My eyebrow lifts in silent question. None of the boys would knock, and the staff know not to bother me in my room, no matter the issue.

Which leaves one other person that could be waiting on the opposite side of my door.

“Come in,” I call, watching the handle turn and my grandmother’s heeled feet walk through the door.

The large, pale-colored skirt and white button-down have been a staple in her wardrobe for as long as I can remember. She’s a woman who has everyone at her disposal yet insists on doing everything herself. It used to drive my grandfather insane.

“May,” I say, walking to my drawer and opening the top to pull out a pair of tan socks, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

There is a deep sense of respect that I carry for my grandmother, one that has nothing to do with familial love or blood-bound loyalty but an appreciation for all she came from and what she has weathered in her life. Although she was wealthy for most of her adulthood, it was not without struggle, and I have watched her for years handle it with the grace others would kill for.

Few people can say they’ve lost their children to prison because of psychopathy, and that’s the reason she had to raise her only grandchild as her own, only to lose her husband shortly after.

Yet, here she stands with her spine straight and, more often than not, a smile on her aging face.

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