Page 42 of Prince of Demons
Kesh raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re not apologizing? That’s a first.”
She blinked. “Um… I’m sorr?—”
He interrupted her with a curl of his lip, showing a hint of fangs. “No. Don’t you fucking dare. Why does it take so little for you to prostrate yourself?”
“I thought you wanted me to…” She trailed off, heat rising in her cheeks as his stare made her think about his question. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted softly. “I just don’t like upsetting people.”
“You’re a doormat,” he said, voice cold and dismissive. “You’ve spent your life making yourself as small and inoffensive as possible, and what has that gotten you? Nothing. Less than nothing.”
“You don’t know me or my life,” she protested, a hint of anger worming its way through her innate fear of the demon.
“Oh, but I do,” he huffed, a disgusted look on his harrowing face. “You were the quiet girl growing up, always doing what was expected of you, but never claiming the spotlight when you excelled at anything, right? Wouldn’t want anyone to think you were too proud, or thought yourself better than them. And you were praised for it, weren’t you? Little Georgia, always putting others first. So self-sacrificing. Such a saint. Such a nice girl.
“And here you are, fully grown, and you still haven’t fucking clocked on that while you were busy putting yourself last, everyone else put you last as well. I don’t have to know your life to know that you’re so used to being taken advantage of, you wouldn’t feel safe unless you were somehow sacrificing for others.”
“You don’t…” Georgia opened her mouth to rebut his harsh characterization of her with another assertion that he didn’t know her or her life, but her voice died as his words sank deep underneath her skin, burrowing into the most vulnerable parts. Memories flooded through her mind—going without dinner now and then as a young teen, when Mom was struggling as a single parent and there wasn’t money to put food on the table for everyone. Mom had to have energy to work, and Larry was a growing boy. So she’d gone to bed hungry. Sacrificing her GPA to work more hours as an older teen, so she could contribute to the household. Walking to work for months, because Mom suggested the single mother living next door needed the rundown old beater she’d managed to scrape and save for more than Georgia did herself. Not taking that art scholarship to an out-of-state college, because that would have left Mom and Larry to fend for themselves.
Memory after memory flickered through her brain. She’d never questioned it—the habit of stepping aside for others who might have more need—and she couldn’t deny the stab in her gut at the prince’s derisive tone as he called her a nice girl.
“Well, excuse me for being a good person,” she finally huffed. “I’m sure the concept is alien to a demon, but it’s a basic, vital part of humanity. We can’t all be self-absorbed assholes. I was raised this way. I’ve done nothing the rest of my family wouldn’t do in a heartbeat, and I almost pity you that you’ll never know what it's like to have people you would do anything for.”
Kesh only snorted at her defensive tone. “Oh, I’m sure your people would definitely sacrifice themselves for you if only they got a chance… But wait! Why were you the one bargaining your body to save your brother’s life? Why didn’t he seek one of us out? Why didn’t his mother? His father?”
Two hot spots bloomed on her cheeks with anger at his persistence. “Because I’m the only one who can see you. They don’t know you exist.”
“No?” The prince raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “So when you were a little girl and cried whenever you saw a monster, what would they do?”
“They’d…” She hesitated, the heat in her cheeks intensifying. “I was a child. What were they supposed to think? That demons were real, but their daughter was the only one who could see them?”
“So they dismissed us as figments of your imagination?”
“Of course they did. Like I’m sure most sane parents would,” she snapped. She wasn’t aware she’d wrapped her arms around herself until she saw the demon’s dark gaze dip to take in the protective gesture.
“And when you grew older and still saw us…? They had you speak to a psychiatrist? Like most sane parents would?”
The way his dark eyes taunted her, she knew he already knew the answer to that. She just glared at him.
“Well?” he pushed. Forcing her to say the words.
“No.” It came out like a soft whisper—not at all as assertive and unbothered as she could have wished.
“Tell me, then. What did your supportive family do? You know, the people who would sacrifice for you, just like you have for them.”
“We didn’t have that kind of money. And Larry was still little and needed a lot of attention.”
“Georgia,” he interrupted her, voice sharpening as he crossed his arms over her chest and speared her with a look that made her lungs tighten. “What happened when you told them you were still seeing monsters?”
“I… had a new P.E. teacher. A demon. He was… mean. Scary. I told my mom I didn’t want to go to class. She asked why. I told her he was a monster.” She exhaled softly as the echo of terror from that moment reverberated through her. “She… didn’t have the capacity to deal with it. She and Larry’s dad were going through a rough patch, and…”
“What happened, Georgia?” Kesh repeated, his voice as commanding as before, if perhaps a fraction softer.
Why was this so hard to say? She understood why her mom hadn’t been able to deal with it. And it was so long ago. So why did admitting out loud what had happened when she went to her mother for help still hurt? “She… told me I was too old to believe in boogeymen. And that she didn’t have the energy to deal with my drama. That if I didn’t like P.E. to eat less candy and start jogging. And to never bother her with it again.”
“And let me guess—you never did?” he asked. He spoke more softly than before, but something in those dark eyes made the hair at the back of her neck stand on end.
Wordlessly, she shook her head, eyes lowering from the intensity of his stare. Her skin prickled, something numb and unpleasant stirring in her gut at the opening of old wounds. Mom had done the best she could with what she had. Georgia knew that.
But it still hurt to remember.
