Page 173 of Sinful Desires
A sob tore out of my throat, too loud for the sterile silence of the room. Tears blurred everything as I dropped to my knees, choking on my own breath.
My mother turned toward me, her eyes bloodshot and swollen, and she screamed. A raw guttural sound torn from whatever part of her had died with him.
“Tout ça est de ta faute, Théo.Tu as détruit notre vie!”
She lunged at me, fury exploding from her chest, but the doctors held her back.
“On ne te pardonnera jamais.Je te déteste! Tu m’entends?I hate you!”
But she didn’t know the truth.
I hated myself more than she ever could.
Chapter
Forty-Two
“But the more I sat still and dug into my inner well of thoughts and shadows,the more I felt a guilty and painful twang within me.”
? Nick Oliveri:
Scarlett
Théo collapsed to his knees, sobs tearing through him, chest convulsing like something had broken loose from deep inside. His hands slammed against the stone, palms splayed, shaking.
There was something violently wrong about watching a man that strong come undone. On his knees, stripped of everything.
My legs gave out. I dropped beside him, hands clutching his shoulders, burning with the same fire that had already been devouring me.
The moon caught his eyes when he finally looked up.
And God, he looked ruined.
Not hurt.Ruined.
There was something in the way his face twisted, something so raw, so hollowed out, that I would have torn my own soul out of my body if it meant I could take that pain from him.
“There,” he choked, voice cracked and hoarse. “Now you know everything.”
A silence stretched between us.
“That’s who I am, Scarlett.” His eyes didn’t leave mine. “A man whose selfish desires killed his own father.”
My throat closed. I reached for him, my hand trembling as I brushed away a tear sliding down his cheek. His eyes shut like he couldn’t bear to be seen anymore, and I hated how small I felt beside the weight of his grief.
That was the reason he didn’t celebrate birthdays.
“Has he passed?” My voice cracked on the last word.
He let out a hollow scoff, part laugh, part sob. “He’s been in a coma for fourteen years, Scarlett.”
He paused, his breath catching.
“My mother still won’t pull the plug. She sits by his side every single morning and tells him she loves him. Says she knows he can hear her. Says hope is all she has left.”
My hands dropped to his cheeks. “Have you visited him?”
A sob tore from his throat as he nodded, jaw clenched.
