Page 159 of Sweet Venom
“That’s because he’s an ungrateful cretin who has no notion of family ties whatsoever,” Regis says, then takes a sip of his wine.
I touch Jude’s hand under the table. It’s balled in a tight fist on his lap as if he’s enduring something. It relaxes a bit beneath my touch, but he doesn’t uncurl it.
“What can I say?” Jude’s lips pull in a mocking smirk. “I learned from the best.”
“What on earth is wrong with you tonight?” Julian’s harsh voice echoes with a warning. “Have you left your manners at the door? Or do you believe Violet’s presence will shield you from consequences?”
“No, leave him, Julian,” Regis says. “He seems to have a lot to say for once. Let’s hear it.”
Jude barks out a humorless chuckle. “So you can lock me up in the basement for your entertainment?”
He…locks his son up in the basement?
I mean, after I woke up from the coma, Dahlia told me many things about Vencor and how cruel these families can get, but isn’t Jude doing well? He’s a star athlete, and, according to Dahlia, a very successful member of the organization.
Thinking that Jude comes with all of these labels attached makes my head whirl.
Lately, I seem to gloss over the fact that Jude is a killer. He’s ended many people’s lives, and he’ll continue to. But right now, as I look at his father, I blame him for bringing Jude into this world.
Jude had no choice but to fit the mold he was shaped in.
“I won’t. You have my word.” Regis swirls the wine in his glass. “So go ahead.”
“Father, this is not the right time?—”
“Silence, Julian. Stop speaking on his behalf and cleaning up his messes. Let him voice all his complaints.”
“Complaints. Sure, let’s call you murdering my mother a fuckingcomplaint,Father.”
Silence falls like doom on the table. Annalise winces, putting her fork down, seeming to have lost her appetite. Julian glares at Jude, but Regis is staring at his younger son with an unchanged expression.
“Your mother was murdered in broad daylight by a mentally unstable person. You know that, considering all the killings you’ve indulged in since then to avenge her. If anything, the girl sitting by your side witnessed the murder in full detail, no? Tell me, young lady, did you see me murdering that woman?”
I swallow hard, my hand trembling on top of Jude’s, and he flips his over, uncurls it, and holds my fingers tightly. “Violet has nothing to do with this.”
“Nonsense,” Julian interjects. “The sole reason she’seven sitting next to you is because you targeted her due to Susie’s death.”
Annalise’s face blanches, and she gives me a sympathetic look and a little pained smile. I try to smile back, but I’m so agitated, I’m not sure if it reaches my lips.
“See?” Regis says. “I didn’t murder your dear mother, Jude.”
“Just because you didn’t stab her physically doesn’t mean you didn’t kill her a thousand times over the past twenty years.” Jude’s panting, his hand gripping me so powerfully, it hurts a bit, but I still stroke the back of it with my thumb, trying to ease some of what’s paining him.
“She killed herself,” Regis says.
“Father!” Julian shakes his head.
“What the fuck did you just say?” Jude asks.
“Enough is enough. Julian said you didn’t have the mental capacity to accept or even face Susie’s true image and that if we let you play the role of slasher for a while, you’d come back to your senses, but that obviously didn’t work. Killing all those people only made you feel hollow and brought no sense of peace whatsoever. And for whom? A woman who attempted to kill you?”
“Shut up.” Jude’s whispering now.
“Why? Because you don’t want to recall the times she held you underwater in the tub when you were six years old? When the bubbles escaped your mouth and you thrashed and screamed, but she didn’t let go? Or when she held a pillow to your face, trying to smother you when you were eight? Or the fact that she tried to kill you several times after birth when you couldn’t have remembered? Because I do. If Julian, Lucia, or I hadn’t gotten there in time, I’d be one son down.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Your mother was mentally unwell, Jude. Just because you refuse to acknowledge it doesn’t mean it wasn’t true. Sure, she loved and doted on you when she was in her normal phases, but she also seemed to have a strange contempt for you on her off days. If you hadn’t gone on a hunger strike and nearly died at six after I locked her up in a mental institute where she belonged, I would’ve never allowed her back in. I only did so because she promised to medicate, but how often did she flush her medication down the toilet? How often did she play the victim just to make you defend her and prevent me from forcibly admitting her again?”
