Am I a man or a monster? I know now, dad. I’m a monster. Just like you.
I could never return to that sweet, innocent boy who dreamed of a mother’s warmth and the companionship of Amelia. The girl who I once craved, but now she’s the girl who I feel a consuming hatred for.
A battle, forever, of hunger and hate. But, hate would always win because that’s who I was. A boy filled with rage, emptiness and violence.
I could never be saved.
THE PRESENT
CAIDEN
The basement made me raw. As if it were splitting me open and dissecting my deepest, darkest depths.
A few days in and I started understanding the rules without him having to say them out loud. The light stayed on because darkness made people too honest. The food came when he felt like it because hunger made people obedient. The glass stayed between Amelia and me because distance made us resent each other in new ways.
He was building us into exactly what he wanted.
I hated him for it. I hated myself for falling into the pattern anyway.
Amelia sat on her side of the barrier, legs pulled in, arms wrapped around her knees.
Watching her do that made something in my chest go hot. Protective wasn’t a word I wanted. It sounded too noble. Too soft. What I felt was possessive, almost.
Like the thought of anyone touching her wrong made my hands itch.
I sat with my back against the wire, head tipped forward, staring at the concrete. I tried not to watch her.
Tried.
The basement was silent except for the bulb buzzing overhead and the slow drip of water somewhere behind the wall. Each drop landed with a soft, wet click. It sounded like time leaking away.
Amelia shifted, and the scrape of her shirt against the concrete made my jaw tighten. She sucked in a breath, then another, like her lungs were forgetting their job.
Panic.
I could see it on her skin. In the way her shoulders climbed toward her ears. In the way her gaze darted to the stairs even though nothing had moved.
I hated panic. I hated it because it was loud and contagious and it made people do stupid things.
I hated it because it reminded me of myself.
“Breathe,” I said, low.
She didn’t look at me. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
I clenched my jaw. “Fine. Don’t breathe.”
Her head snapped up, eyes flashing. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “And you’re still alive. Keep it that way.”
She stared at me through the glass like she wanted to throw herself at it just to prove she could. Like she wanted to hit me because she couldn’t hit him.
Then her gaze dropped. The light in her eyes dimmed again.
The old hate wanted to rise. It wanted to take control because hate was easy. Hate had a script. Hate didn’t ask me to be careful with my words.
But something else kept pushing through the cracks. Something that made me notice her shaking, that made me hate the way the bruises looked on her skin. Something that made me want to climb through the glass like an animal and rip his throat out with my teeth if he came near her again.
