Page 18 of Hell Hath No Fury

His jaw clenches, anger flaring in his eyes as he shakes his head violently, his hands clenching into fists as he grits out, “There’s no need to hide the truth from me, Lilith. The sheer depth of the monster inside me has been explained to me countless times over the years in explicit detail. And regardless of the things I’ve done in an attempt to rectify my earlier behavior, that doesn’t negate it or make it better. It doesn’t take away the great hurt I inflicted on you.”

His words have fury and shame warring inside me. Fury at the true monsters who lied to him about what happened and shame at myself for not explaining sooner. I rest my hand on his forearm, and he flinches slightly, so I pull back, gripping my hands in front of me as I whisper, “No. No, that’s not what happened.”

He’s looking at the floor, and after a long moment, his eyes raise to mine, and the deep pain I see there has my guts clenching. For all these years, he truly believed he was a monster.

He shakes his head slightly and whispers, “I don’t understand.”

Adrenaline rushes through me, and I leap forward, gripping his cheeks in both of my hands and forcing him to focus entirelyon my face. “That’s not what happened, Antonio. Whatever they told you, none of it was true. You didn’t do anything to me. Youneverdid anything to me.”

Again, he shakes his head in my hands, and I step in closer, gripping his head tightly so he can bear witness to the truth in my eyes. And then he mutters, “But Antoinette.”

I nod, staring him down as I say, “Yes, Antoinette. Antoinette is living proof that something did happen between us, but not proof that you were ever the aggressor. Not proof that you were the monster in the equation.”

His frown deepens, his jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as again he shakes his head in my grip like he’s still trying to deny what truly happened. He attempts to look away, his eyes darting around the room, and I squeeze his head even harder, giving him a little shake until he’s focused on my face again. “Listen to me, Antonio. Hear my words and the truth behind them.”

He stares at me almost vacantly. I continue to stare back, my gaze unflinching, my fingers flexing behind his ears as he once again attempts to shake me off and fails. Slowly, he relaxes in my grip, his curt nod urging me to continue, “They knew you wouldn’t do it. They knew there was nothing that they could offer you to get you to put a hand on me willfully. They knew if they even mentioned it to you directly, most likely, you would do something to try to save me, and they couldn’t have that. They couldn’t risk having their master plans thwarted at the first go, but they also couldn’t start elsewhere because you were the first target.”

His jaw clenches even tighter, and his eyes gleam with decades of pent-up emotion. I go up on my toes, pulling him down to me so we’re eye-to-eye, my words a pained whisper, “So they drugged you. We drugged you. I fucking drugged you.”

His eyes widen, understanding slowly dawning as my words sink in and take hold. Then, he shakes his head again, thistime, his hands coming up between us as he pushes me away and whirls around, shouting, “No. No, that’s not what fucking happened.”

I don’t allow him any space. I follow right along until he’s in the corner, attempting to turn away from me to shield himself from my sight and my voice as I yell, “But it is. They painted you out to be a monster to hide your own victimization. Because they wanted you to see yourself as the monster, even though you never had a choice. They wanted you to see yourself as a monster, so they had something to hold over you, a possible way to control you in the future.”

He presses himself farther into the corner, hunched over with his hands pressing against his ears, his head shaking back and forth as if he’s trying to deflect my words. My heart cracks in my chest because Antonio Rossi is not a man who runs; he’s not a man who turns away; he’s not a man who hides from the truth. I step in close to him until I’m a mere inch from touching him, and I hear him muttering, “No. No. No.”

I rest a hand on his back, my other hand on his arm. “Yes, Antonio. You were never the monster. They took advantage of you. I took advantage of you. We tricked you.” He stops muttering and goes completely still, so I add softly, brokenly, “I fucking raped you.”

Without warning, he comes alive. Whirls on me. His hands suddenly grip my face almost painfully. He’s right there, wild eyes boring into mine as he spits out, “Don’t you ever fucking say that.”

My hands hold his wrists, the aching pain in my chest almost taking my words, but I manage to choke out, “It’s true. That’s exactly what I did to you. I did that. Me. I’m the fucking monster.”

“Stop it,” he shouts, the force of his words hitting me directly in my face. His eyes are wild, but some of the urgency leaveshim as he stares at me. His thumbs stroke over my cheeks, a contradiction to the painful grip of his palms along my jaw and his fingertips gripping my skull as he practically lifts me off my feet. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You don’t want to hear the truth?”

“Maybe two opposite things can be true at the same time.”

Laughing bitterly, my hands flex on his wrists, my feet once again firmly on the floor as he relaxes slightly, but he doesn’t release me. “Not in this case, Antonio. In this case, I did the terrible thing. Me. Not you. I need you to understand and accept this because we both can’t carry the sins of that event and survive each other.”

He presses his forehead against mine and whispers, “Sometimes, we do terrible things because we have no other choice. But that one terrible thing doesn’t label us for life.”

I laugh humorously, watching some of that pain bleed from his eyes as I reply, “I’ve always been a monster.”

He smiles almost sadly, his eyes closing as he says, “Well, I don’t believe that, but if it helps, I forgive you.”

I jerk away as if he physically slapped me. “I didn’t ask for your forgiveness.”

My vision swims as emotion overwhelms me, and I try to blink away the rush of tears that has me feeling utterly ridiculous. Holding my breath, I attempt to distract myself and fail, hot tears already rolling down my cheeks. I blink rapidly, this time trying and failing to regulate my breath as the wounded child inside me attempts to claw her way free from the monster she was forced to become.

For a moment, Antonio’s face becomes clear, and I see my own battle reflected in his eyes, decades of pain and anguish slowly trailing down his cheeks.

The sob that breaks free is guttural and animalistic, and he responds in kind as he releases my face and gathers me close.His arms wrap around me, one hand pressed between my shoulders and the other gripping the back of my neck, yanking me tightly against him.

He presses his face into my neck, and after a moment, I manage to free my arms where they’re trapped between us. Tentatively, I move my hands down his sides and around until I’m lightly gripping his back.

He tightens his hold on me, eliminating any space between us, emotion a vibrant current between us. He’s almost silent in his grief, but still, it cuts me open, and I press my hands onto his back, yanking fiercely. He responds with a choked sob that breaks me.

His arms flex around me, squeezing and releasing, the wet trail of tears against my neck matching my own tears against his bare chest. I whisper over and over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

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