Page 135 of Eternal

“He blames you for ruining everything. The deal withmy father, his arrangements with Weston. He said he’s going to make you pay, even if she’s the only way for him to do it.”

“She…”

“Teal.” Jase tucks his hands in his pockets, and his expression makes my gut churn. “He said if he can’t get what he wants, then neither will you, or anyone else for that matter. And he’s going to use his own daughter to prove that point.”

37

I’m Not Sick

Teal

Sitting across the dinnertable from my father, I let Declan’s text settle my nerves. My heart has been on a tightrope for as long as we’ve been playing this game, and for the first time, I’m ready to let go and fall for him. To trust the net beneath me because he’s proven he’ll catch me in the darkness.

I hold onto that comfort as I stare at my father sitting at the head of the table.

He thinks I’m still the naïve girl whose strings he’s been pulling all these years. He doesn’t know my mind is finally clear and that I remember everything.

The intensive treatments.

The hypnotherapy.

The drugs.

Looking back, I realize a part of me did die when I tried to take my life. The part of me that understood who I was.

To hide his own friend’s secrets, he let me spiral. He used doctors and medication to brainwash me and force me to conform. He took away that girl who knew what she was fighting for.

I always thought I was impossible to treat because I was just too fucked-up. It turns out the reason nothing helped was because none of my doctors were actually treating me. They were simply doing my father’s bidding and following orders.

He let me believe my mind was so far beyond repair that I’d be forced to live that way forever. In reality, he was withholding real treatment and medicating me into compliance, and my mom allowed it.

Knowing my father, it probably wasn’t really her choice, but still, she did nothing. She supported my art and used that to placate her guilt. It’s not enough.

“Are you ready for Paris?” Mom smiles, taking a sip of her wine.

At least she pretends to care, unlike my father, who hasn’t said a word to me since I got here. She might be conditioned to obey him and go along with his plans, but she plays the role well.

I nod. “Yes, Declan and I signed the lease for the apartment last weekend.”

My father drops his fork to his plate at my comment. “Your what?”

“We’re going to live together when we’re in Paris.” I shrug, pretending not to notice the boiling kettle of rageset to high heat in front of me. “Declan was accepted into the same art internship. I’m surprised yourfriendIan didn’t tell you.”

I stress the word friend just to get under his skin.

“I didn’t know Declan was an artist.” Mom’s eyes pinch with genuine curiosity.

“He is.” I nod. “He’s really talented, actually. But he doesn’t make a show of it, so most people don’t know that about him.”

Now that I know him better, I understand why he’s private about his art. It’s deeply personal to him, and he doesn’t let anyone see a hint of his vulnerability. His art is created from pieces of the world around him. It’s why he’s always incorporating us into it. To him, his work is greater than a sculpture or masterpiece. It’s a moment in time.

A memory.

Like the one we made the other night in my studio. We were a mess of paint and sex while the corpse of my nightmares was dead in the corner. He broke me free from that pain, and he needed to capture that.

Love isn’t something I thought I was capable of, but maybe I was just too foggy to understand it. Or maybe I just hadn’t admitted my heart had reserved itself years ago for the only person who had ever come close to touching it.

Because when I look into Declan’s eyes, something close to love pours out. No matter what he’s done to me.

---