Page 107 of A Taste like Sin
incapable of understanding human suffering. So he merely watches me break. “I know nothing I can
say could earn your forgiveness—”
“Forgiveness?” A broken laugh trickles out of me as I put the remaining pieces together.
Simon’s sudden absence. The roses.Roses are not your flower,he said to me during our first true
conversation. That was because he’d stolen it. He’d corrupted it.
Feeling sick, I tear at my neck, ripping his necklace from it. When the delicate pearl strikes the wall, I
feel no satisfaction. Just pain. Maybe in his own twisted logic, he tried to tell me the truth all along.
Oleander and roses. Poison and Simon’s favorite gift.
“I…I thought I could trust you—no.” I close my eyes and confess in a rush, “I did trust you. Itrusted
you.”
It sounds so pathetic now. Trust a man so incapable of simple human emotion.
“I didn’t want you to learn this way,” he says, toying with me yet again. “Come with me. I can explain
—”
“No!” I use the wall for leverage to steady myself. Then I run, stumbling for balance on jellied knees.
He doesn’t try to stop me.
He doesn’t spout any more lies about trust.
He lets me go without a word, and I leave a trail of tears like blood.
A stern-faced driver chauffeurs me to the hospital, but something feels different even before I
step foot onto my father’s floor, still wearing Damien’s elegant creation.
“Miss?” A uniformed officer blocks my path as the elevator doors part. The gun prominent on his hip
catches my notice first, his strained expression second. “I’m going to need to see some
identification,” he demands, extending his hand.
I fish through my purse for my ID. Eyeing it, the man deepens his frown. “Ms. Thorne? I’m going to
need you to come with me.”
“Is something wrong?” I ask. Alarm lances down my spine as I notice other officers clustered in the
portion of the hall near my father’s room. From here, the staticky noise issuing from their handsets
creates an ominous hum.
“This way,” the officer in front of me urges, but rather than lead me to my father’s room, he takes me
inside a small sitting room instead. “I’m going to ask you to sit, Ms. Thorne.”
My heart lurches to my throat as I comply. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
