Page 34 of Crazy Rich Monsters (Necessary Evils 1)

And there it is. He was only able to contain his contempt for me for a good two minutes before breaking. “So, itwasyou that put that video on that screen.” It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. It was my father in the garden with an SD card. That’d be the proper way to phrase the accusation if this were a game of Clue and it’s starting to feel like a fucking game.

“I was with your mother.”

I throw my hands into the air, yelling, “It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you’re both responsible.”

“You’re giving us far too much credit.”

“Can you pick a fucking lane? First you say that you have the power to get rid of me and now you’re claiming that your scope of power is overestimated.”

His gaze narrows on me, his voice cracking with a faint roar before he explodes. “May I remind you that that woman took your brother away from us and by extension, your sister too.”

“That’s actually a great point.” I take a measured step back, prepared to lay it all out on the table. “You destroy everyone who does you wrong. I remember when I was a little kid, you turned the neighbors into social pariahs by claiming they did something we all know they didn’t do. You sullied that man’s name to the point that nobody in this fucking town could look at him as anything other than a pervert. And now I’m supposed to believe that you don’t have the power to remove Addison from the picture. If you really believe she killed him, then why is she even alive?”

He cocks his head sideways, avoiding my accusatory gaze. Most businessmen have a poker face. He doesn’t. The fact that he can’t look me in the eyes forces me to finally realize with certainty that something is amiss.

Won’t look at me, but still he speaks, “Are you honestly trying to make me believe that you want her dead? The whole world saw you with your dick in that whore.”

I grit my teeth. “You’re not answering my question.”

“The problem I’m having is that you obviously believe I’m some kind of monster.” Then his eyes are back on me, hollow and cruel. “The best revenge is quiet revenge. That girl will get what’s coming to her someday.” He circles his fingers in the air between us. “Whatever is going on between the two of you, it’s going to destroy you both.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I need any help with that. Being a part of this family is enough to destroy anyone.”

And then I’m gone, slamming the door behind me on my way out so hard that I swear I can hear the glass crack. Not that I care to double check. It’s not like he doesn’t have access to my trust fund. He can bill me for the damages.

ChapterNineteen

ADDISON

A Latin proverb states that the lust of power is the strongest of all passions. I think it’s easier to take those words of wisdom at face value than to try and ascribe an alternate meaning to them. At our core, humans are simple creatures. We crave to be loved, to not be so incredibly lonely. We crave a sense of belonging. A roof over our heads and a full stomach. For those with the worst inclinations, power comes before all.

I’ve never understood what it means to love and hate someone, both at the same time. Nick Calloway has shown me that it’s possible to do both. That’s not to say I’m in love with him. That’d be sick, perverted beyond the wildest measure. But I love his body. It’s my favorite sin, a dark, twisted tale of entropy. He has an otherworldly power to make me feel alive when he’s inside of me. I think it’s because of the hatred that runs rampant through our blood. Too sick and twisted to be a dream.

I hate him in every way imaginable, just as I hate every member of his family. Just as I hated Carter. Just as I hate my own mother. Because of Nick, I can now understand better the relationship I have with the wretched woman I callMother.

Hate. Love. It’s all the same on the everchanging spectrum of emotions. A confusing, complex ride of torment through winding curves and landmines exploding with revelations. Over the course of the summer, words have begun to lose meaning. I’ve come to terms in accepting that nobody is keen on telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but it. Lies beget lies, weaving tales of fiction until whoever’s lips are talking are painted as the victim.

It’s been over two weeks since the Fire and Ice Ball. Two weeks since mother first awoke from her coma. It’s been quiet, but there’s still no peace. I haven’t seen Nick since he left me on the beach. Even with him out of the picture, I’ve found no sense of peace. The quiet isn’t always best for the soul. Sometimes, the quiet opens the doors for inner demons to wreak havoc, sewing seeds of turmoil inside the corridors of my mind.

The only way I can get the voices to shut up is to stay busy, and I do that by helping my mother get better. Day by day, I spend my time in the hospital. At first, the most I could do was fetch her a glass of water when she was thirsty, or a snack when she was hungry. Gradually, she regained what little strength she had before the fire. I could help her get to the bathroom and shower.

There’s a certain subset of people in life who exhibit signs of what I like to call toxic positivity. Everyone knows someone that suffers from this deranged syndrome. They’re easy to spot. They are the type of person to always insist that there’s a silver lining in every cloud. The type of person who decorates their house with plaques that readlive, laugh, love.I don’t actually know anybody like that, but they’re right. There’s a sliver of a silver lining to be found in the fact that someone burned my mother’s house to the ground.

She hasn’t had a drink in over three weeks. That’s the most sober she’s been since as long as I can remember. I’m not naïve enough to believe it’ll last. She’s set to be released from the hospital any minute now. If she had her way, she’d have me pull over at the first gas station to grab a case of beer. Unfortunately for her, I will not be stopping anywhere, and she doesn’t have the strength to walk anywhere on her own.

I can see it in her eyes as she sits up on the bed, her wrinkled hands grabbing onto the tightly fitted sheets as she kicks her legs over the side. The light in her eyes is dampened, hollow and quiet. She’s longing for the sweet intoxication of a beer the way many long for their loved ones that have passed to the other side.

In some ways, she’s stronger than she’s ever been. The detoxing she’s been forced to endure the past few weeks must have done miracles for her liver. If only she could stay this way. Maybe then, we could rediscover each other and find that we have something in common. Maybe we could have an actual relationship. I refuse to get my hopes up. The part of her that I hate the most is encoded into her DNA. She’s incapable of changing.

In other ways, she’s weaker than she’s ever been but she’s alive. As she walks down the hallway, her shaking hands wrapped around the metal bars of an old walker, I stay at her side with one hand hovering just behind her back in case she should lose her grip. Once again, we’re at a conjuncture where the roles of parenting have been reversed. I am the parent, and she is the child. She needs me now more than she’s ever needed me before and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still considering running.

If only I wasn’t addicted to the trauma.

The inciting incident that brought me back to this place was a text from Paige that my mother wasn’t well. For whatever reason, she believed I was the person best suited to help bring her back from the brink of death by alcoholism. In the end, it wasn’t the alcoholism that almost killed her. It was arson. Two weeks ago, I would have sworn that Nick lit the flame just as he admitted to doing. Now, I’m not so certain. The doubts are a part of the circus inside my head that won’t shut up. I can’t make heads from tails, can’t tell the difference between the truth and fiction. It doesn’t make sense for someone to lie about doing such a terrible thing, but nothing about Nick has ever made sense.

Born an only child, I can’t possibly understand what it’s like to lose a sibling. However, using logic, reason, and emotion, I can come to the natural conclusion that I wouldn’t be sticking my dick into the girl that I believed killed someone I love. When my father died, I wanted the world to burn. I yearned to discover that someone was responsible for his death so that I could avenge him. I wanted to take my pain out onto someone to take away the hurt. If the circumstances were reversed, I’m almost certain that Nick would be dead.

A nurse holds open the door at the front of the hospital, ushering Mother and me out into the overwhelmingly hot summer day. My mother pauses, taking a break as she glances upwards at the sun. She shields her eyes with one hand as she’s kissed by the harsh light of day.

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