Page 60 of Redemption
“What?” I said.
“Whipped. You’re pussy whipped.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Damien rolled his eyes and smiled.
“All of a sudden, a girl you’re in love with wants to do the opposite of what you want to do, and suddenly you’re all for it.”
“You don't know what you’re talking about,” I said, hoping that was the end of the conversation. “And I don’t love her.”
I dropped Sophia off at the hotel I booked for the three of us. I never should have brought her back to that dump Damien and I were hiding out in. She didn’t need to see that. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to come back to Henry’s for her things, but I couldn’t help but feel like I made a mistake leaving her alone again.
Damien picked up a painting off Sophia's desk.
“Aww, look, it's you.” He showed me the painting—a perfect portrait of me in the coffee shop stared back at me.
“I have to admit, your girlfriend is good with her hands.”
“Put it down,” I said with a tired voice.
Damien admired the painting one more time, then put it back where he found it.
“You think she’s different, but let me tell you something about women. They are all the same. At first, they're all smiles and cuteness, but as time goes on, they become vicious and cruel. They use what they learn about you to land blows they're physically incapable of.”
“Damien, that only happens to you because you’re an asshole.”
“I’m not an asshole. I’m a realist,” he said, puffing up his chest.
His absolute belief in his own wisdom astonished me sometimes.
I crouched down and gathered up paintbrushes strewn across the floor and noticed a crumpled pamphlet for an art school. An art school in New York. I flipped it open, then tossed it into the container we were using to gather Sophia’s things, unsure of what to make of it.
“No, really, you are an asshole. I’ve seen all of your relationships turn to shit just as you described. It’s always been your doing,” I said.
“Well, I’ll be sure to remind you of this conversation when it all comes crashing down for you.” Damien studied the camera in the wall, then turned toward the room, studying the view the camera had.
“So, have you decided what you want to do with Henry yet?”
“It doesn’t require much thought,” I said, sharing a wicked smile with my brother.
“Have you told Sophia?” he asked.
“No. She wouldn’t be able to handle that.”
“Yet you’re bringing her to a lion's den where what we are going to do to Henry is normal? She’s going to break in New York if she can’t handle the fact that we’re going to kill Henry.”
“She is strong; she will be fine. It’s just too personal with Henry. She’s lived with him for years. It’s better this way. She has no illusions about what awaits her in New York.”
Damien snickered.
“Yeah, sure. I’m sure she’ll run at the first sign of trouble. You're forgetting—she's just a naive girl with a big heart. She won’t last a day.”
“She will be fine. Enough talking. We’re just here to get her valuables.”
“All right, all right,” Damien muttered.
We continued gathering Sophia's things. It was surreal, gathering her drawings, her clothes, the tiny trinkets she'd collected over the years. They all reflected a person I was still getting to know but felt so much for—a person whose heart felt closer to me than my own.
