Page 75 of Daughter of a Monster

“I’m nothing like him!” I don’t mean to yell but it comes out as a roar.

Fear sparks in her eyes and she cowers, getting to her feet and folding her arms over her chest. Her bottom lip trembles as she speaks but she holds her chin high and locks me with her gaze.

“Then why is the door locked? Why can’t I leave?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “You’re just like him.”

Running my hands through my hair, I let out a low breath. She’s right. I can’t deny it any longer. No matter what my intent, the facts are the same. I’ve stolen her, locked her away, and taken her freedom.

Walking over to the door, I slide the lock across and push it open. “You’re right. If you want to leave, you can. I won’t stop you, Berkley. You’re free to go.”

But she doesn’t move. She stays standing with her arms crossed, those huge eyes staring at me. She blinks a few times, widening the cracks in my heart. I stride over to her, resting my hands on her shoulders and look into her eyes.

“I never expected to want you, Berkley. You are the daughter of my enemy, the offspring of everything I despise. I wanted to use you to make him talk, to cause him pain and suffering, but I can’t.” Her shoulders drop and her hands fall to her sides. “You’ve gotten under my skin.” Taking her hands, I twist my fingers through hers, hoping she’ll be able to hear the honesty in my words. “You hate your father. You feel for those women. So help me. Help me find Hope. You could be the one to right the wrongs of your father. I know you think I’m just like him, but I’m’ not. Everything I’ve done, everything I’m doing is to find Hope. I know that’s not an excuse for the way I’ve treated you, but he stole her. He used and abused her then sold her once he was done. I have done none of those things.”

“What about Alma?” she says, untangling her hands from mine. “You won her in a card game.”

“But I do not own her,” I plead.

“You won her in a fucking card game,” she says with bitterness. “Do you know how messed up that is?”

“Yes. My whole life is messed up. I’m supposed to be in their world. I’m supposed to be one of them. What was I supposed to do?”

“You’ve touched me, kissed me, tasted me.”

There’s guilt as I listen to her words. Some of my actions have been inexcusable, it’s undeniable, but I thought any of the passion we shared was mutual.

“Was it unwanted? Please tell me if I was wrong in—”

“No.” She drops her gaze then lifts those eyes back up slowly. Those eyes that look like the sky on a cloudy day. Those eyes that look like a storm over an ocean. Those eyes that stab my heart.

“I hate that man with every fiber of my being,” she says. “He ruined my life and I was one of the lucky ones. I was never witness to his evil, but I know it’s there inside him. I know what he did to those women, to Hope. I want to make him pay.” She reaches up to cup my face. “You don’t need to become a monster like him. I will help you. I know people in that world. They trust me. I’ll help you find Hope. I can become Everly Atterton again.”

Instead of my heart swelling like it should, there’s nothing but guilt lodged inside. Because she’s trusting me. She’s giving me what I need. She’s willing to become the person she’s been running from being for years. All for me.

And I’m still lying to her.

HOPE

HOPE

“Why won’t you show me your face?”

He’s sitting on the bed, dressed all in black, his balaclava firmly in place. The bottom of it is lifted slightly, showing his mouth. The only time he ever removes it completely is when the light is out. His lips are soft and full, glossy and pink.

We’re watching a movie. Something which I’ve watched so many times I’m bored. I don’t need to look at the screen to know what’s happening and I know the words by heart. It’s my captor’s favorite movie. A fighting one. Brother against brother. The younger always falling short of the older. Both searching for the approval of a father they hate.

“Shhh.” He places another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “This is my favorite part.”

There’s no point in trying to push the matter. He’s in one of those moods. One where he walks in, sits down, flicks on a movie and doesn’t talk to me. In my mind, he’s had a big day at work. A stressful day. He just wants to chill out for a bit without having questions leveled at him. He doesn’t tell me anything like this. It’s just what I imagine. He still keeps all details of his life outside these walls private. Occasionally, he’s gone to make the odd comment about something and then stopped himself, as though he’s scared of revealing too much. I always feel comforted when he does that. He’s afraid to give me information about himself, afraid to let me see him. He wouldn’t be afraid if I were to be locked in here forever.

I stroke the spines of the books stacked on the shelves. There’s a lot of them now. Almost twenty. The small space is filled with puzzles and games, movies and books and packets of food.

“Have you got some sort of hideous facial scar or something?” I already know the answer. I’ve run my fingers over his face in the dark. There are no scars. No raised flesh.

He snorts. “No. I’m a beautiful specimen of humanity.”

I flop myself down onto the bed. “Then why won’t you let me see you?”

I’m staring straight into his eyes. Today they are kind and gentle. But they aren’t all the time. His moods fluctuate greatly. Mind you, mine do too. Somedays I’m content. I know I could have it worse. Other days I want to scream with the insanity of it all.

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