It’s absurd, and yet, as he stares straight at me, I can at least tell he’s not lying.
That is, I think I can tell, because I am clearly not great at the whole knowing-who-to-trust thing.
And yet, no one’s ever looked more believable than the guy who, up until now, has made no secret of the fact that he was planning to kill me.
If I’m really who he says I am…then why the hell does he want to kill me?
Instead of voicing that thought, I insist feebly, “My parents are Laura and William Day.”
Damien turns back to Logan, hissing in annoyance. “Does your daughter even have a single fucking brain cell?”
“For someone so intent on her not knowing anything, you’re sure telling her a whole fucking lot,” grumbles Logan.
“I thought it was only a matter of time before she figured it out,” snaps back Damien, “once she heard the name Lia. I wasn’t aware she was so stupid.”
It’s Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. But even though I should be seething at Damien’s insult, I’m too busy still trying to wrap my head around his words.
It makes no sense. It makes no fucking sense.
And yet…
Little pinpricks of doubt form in my head, in the same way that they did when Officer Jones told me about my mom’s cancer.
Impossible. And yet, in a weird, unsettling way… it does answer some questions.
I’m suddenly thinking about how I can’t remember ever seeing a picture of myself as a baby.
I never thought about it, but isn’t that the kind of thing parents usually keep?
The earliest pictures I’ve seen were of me as a toddler.
Still, I read somewhere that your earliest memories start at four. So… shouldn’t Iremembermy life if my early years were spent with other people?
Now that I think of it, I suddenly have weird hazy memories of someone singing softly to me. Of cozying up in someone’s lap as that very same someone read me a story. At feeling curls brush against my cheek.
But are they real, buried memories that have burst through with Damien’s revelation? Or false, suggested ones that my brain is hurriedly forming to try to make sense of what the Devil founders are saying?
My parents don’t look much like me. Neither had glasses nor red hair. But I mean, lots of kids don’t look like their parents. So what?
Though I’m vaguely aware red hair is a recessive gene. And my eyesight beingsowonky is kind of weird since my parents have perfect vision.
And yet, I do have a birth certificate, and a passport. When you read novels with kids who find out they’re adopted, that’s usually one of the signs.
All my papers are fully in order.
At the same time, if a Devil founder reallyismy stepfather, I’m sure getting that kind of paperwork fudged is all in a day’s work.
I hate myself for allowing Damien’s words to creep into mymind and stay there. As though I’m accepting it.
It’s not true. It’s not fucking true!
I loved my parents. Including my mom, no matter how unlovable it felt like she was at times. There’s just no fucking way Damien’s right!
“You’re lying,” I mutter.
Damien glares at Logan in annoyance. “I’m starting to question my decision not to kill her.”
I inhale sharply, but Logan merely rolls his eyes yet again. “Don’t tease her right now. She’s been through a lot.”
