Page 259 of Ominous: Part 1
“Eli.” It’s different this time.That’s enoughorstop.
“Was she always so distant?” I ask, and I can tell he thinks it’s a genuine question at first. There’s a moment of surprise flitting across his face, his brows raised, his expression full of openness instead of the step before anger. But before he can answer me, I keep talking. “Or was it justyouthat made her that way? You kept her locked up in this house and you never wanted to fly her back home and you never wanted her family to visit and—”
“None of that is true.”
“Iheardyou, don’t bullshit me, Dad. I heard her argue with you about dates and flights and—”
“She wanted to take you. I thought she wouldn’t bring you back. She got in these moods sometimes, she was… she was sick and I—”
“You wanted to control her. You wanted to keep her in a cage.”
Dad straightens from the doorway, pointing a finger at me, his shirt clinging to his biceps, and I feel like I’m going to get exactly what I want. “You’re wrong.” It’s all he says, but I see the rage in his eyes.
“I’m not.” I smile, because I know it infuriates him more. “You wanted to own her, and you couldn’t stand the idea she might never come backto you.”
He steps closer to me. “I didn’t want her to take you from me.” His voice is raw. “And she had no idea what to do with you.”
“Andyou did?”I laugh, and it’s not meant to hurt him this time. It’s just amusing, Dad thinking he knew more than Mom about how to handle me. “You’re fucking clueless too.”
“Then help me.” He drops his hand but steps even closer. We’re two feet apart, maybe less. I can see his pulse beating at the base of his throat. “Help me, Eli. All I’ve ever wanted to do is what’s best for you, but I’m lost.”
“If you think you’re going to appeal to my better nature by trying to make me feel sorry for you, then you’re stupid.” I close the space between us this time, so we’re nose-to-nose. I can smell his cologne, something aquatic, and the smoke from the grill. “You should know, Dad. I don’t have abetter fucking nature.”
“Eli.”Shut up.“Watch your tone.”
“I think my tone is just fine. I think what you really want me to do is watch the facts, right? Stop spelling out all the ways your son will never be the golden boy you wanted him to be? Is that what you want, Dad? You want to pretend I didn’t break that kid’s fucking nose, and I didn’t play with those mice and I didn’t fuck my babysitter and—”
He clamps his hand over my mouth, like he can’t bear to hear it. His fingers are warm. They remind me of Eden, in temperature alone. “Stop,” he says, his eyes holding mine, like he can reach me.
If he wanted to reach me, he’d have to understand me. There is only one person in this world who does, and I’m blowing her off right now to fight with my fucking dad.
But I’ve never been one to back away from violence.
I grab Dad’s wrist, holding tight before I jerk his hand down.
He releases his grip on my mouth but tries to shake mine off.
I don’t let go.
“You’re more than enough,” he says, and I hate him for it. “You aremorethan anything I could have ever asked for in a son—”
“I hate when you lie to my face.”
He tries again to pull his wrist from my fingers, but I don’t let go, and I watch in amazement as his temper rises and rises andbursts.
Muscles and veins flex beneath his skin, his lips are pulled back, nostrils flaring. I think he’s fighting with himself, so he doesn’t fight with me.
But I want it.
I love this.
“Let go of me, Eli.” Fear flickers just once when I only tighten my grip, but the violence comes on its heels. Maybe he hits me because he’s scared, and he loathes that part of himself. Because he wants to believe what he says. That I’mmore than enough.
But moments like these, when he gets his wrist free and his fist connects with the side of my face, haphazard and without aim, like he just needs to hurt any inch of me to feel better, we know the truth.
You don’t want this. You don’t want me.
Who could?
