37. Lia

37

LIA

And at the thought of what we had together falling apart because my brother was no longer here—not having a reason to see her anymore?

Having there be any room inside her heart for the tiniest sliver of doubt?

I pushed her against the wall and shoved my tongue down her throat, like I could find penance inside of her for all the sins my mind had held for weeks.

But instead of pushing me away or kicking me in the balls—both of which would've been very understandable reactions—she threw her arms around my neck and held on.

Thank fuck.

—Caleb, from One of a Thousand Wishes by A. R. McGeorge

I woke up the next morning achy, dehydrated, and feeling like everything that'd happened the prior night had been a dream—until I realized I'd fallen asleep naked, which meant that it hadn't been.

Rhaim had been here with me.

And he wanted to own me.

I lay in bed for a long while just looking at the ceiling. I'd read some dark books before but I never once thought I'd be living them. I lifted my hands to my throat, where his had been. I wouldn't ever need a collar, because I would always feel them pressing against me.

He was mine and I was his, and that meant...I had to get better.

Because we couldn't take the world on together if I couldn't stand by his side.

If I went running from my uncle, if I hid from my cousin.

If I couldn't stand the dark.

As much as I wanted to lean into his strength...if I was going to become a little girl he was proud of, I needed to find some of my own.

Which meant figuring everything out, and getting to the bottom of everything that'd been done to me.

I reached for my phone and found out it was ten—and there was a text from my Monster telling me the camera installers would be here at three.

I knew exactly where I needed to go in the meantime.

I hadn't seen Dolly in a decade—since I'd left town.

But I'd been better about keeping in touch with her than I had any other member of my family. Probably because, as my nanny, she'd been my de facto mom—and then after the death of my mother, she was the only one I had left.

So I'd always made sure to send her Christmas cards, postcards, and letters. Letting her know each time I changed address, making it sound like I was going off on an adventurous vacation, instead of a grand tour of the most exclusive boarding schools and calming mental hospitals of the Old World.

She'd always written back, God bless her. Her handwriting had deteriorated over the years into an almost illegible scrawl, but she tried to reach me when no one else did.

And that was how I knew where she was now, at a sprawling assisted living community outside of town. I had my driver take me to her and wait outside as I went to check myself in, writing my name down in the guest book of her complex as the front lady called her up and then gave me directions to her floor.

"Lia! Is it really you?" Dolly stood outside in the hallway, flagging me down like I was a plane on a runway with one hand, the other held above her eyes to block the light.

"It is!" I said, and practically ran for her. I held her tight and she hugged me back just as hard. She smelled sweet, like always, a combination of baby powder and whatever magical cold cream she put on her face at night.

"How are you?" she asked, peeling herself away from me first. "Did it need to take you so long to come home?"

"Yeah, it did," I said apologetically, letting her squeeze me.

"Come on in," she said, pulling me, unwilling to let go of my hand. "I'm going to make you tea."

"I'd like that," I said, as she released me, and I looked around her small but airy room. My postcards were up on her mantle, same as the photos of her grandkids, and I found myself wishing I'd sent her pictures of myself before. "How are you?" I called to her in her little kitchen.

"How are you?" she scoffed at me, then laughed. "I'm old, honey. You missed me in my prime!"

"I doubt that," I said, sitting down on an overstuffed couch, as she angled toward me with a mug in both hands.

"I want to know all about you," she said, sitting down herself beside me. "Are you good? Are you happy?"

Was I?

As of around 3 a.m. last night.

"Yeah," I said, tentatively. "I am."

She eyed me with one eyebrow cocked. "Is there a boy—or a girl? I'm equal opportunity, I just want to know they're taking care of you?—"

"They are," I said.

"And they know that you're the most precious girl in the world?"

I laughed. "You're only saying that because you only have sons and grandsons, Dolly. But trust me—they're doing all right."

"Good," she said, taking a long sip of her tea before rocking back. "I can't believe you haven't come home all this time. You didn't need to run so far away."

"Half-run, half-shoved," I said, trying not to sound bitter. Half-caged, by my past.

We chit chatted for the better part of an hour about her kids and my schooling—the parts of it that mattered—just getting caught up, and it was like nothing had changed between us, except that we were both a little older.

"I see your dad on TV sometimes, you know. He's still very handsome."

"I'd tell him you said so, but we both know it'd only go to his head." She gave me a snort of agreement. "What was it like, working with him?"

She shook her head. "You're the one working for him now. I was just the help."

"But you were there a lot."

"When you weren't trying to set me up with one of the security guards—trying to get us both fired," she teased.

"You're the one that let me read romance books," I protested. It was her fault I'd fallen into them and their stories head first and I'd never come back out.

"Well, I can be honest with you now, as an adult—they were a good way to shut you up," she said with a laugh.

I'd never struck myself as a talkative child—but maybe around her, I had been.

Because I could be.

If only I'd managed to see through Freddie's lies and say something. But when things started, if I talked, it was going to kill him—something I believed, having seen him stagger into our living room, gut-shot and bloody. And then it'd segued when that didn't work anymore, to him threatening to kill her, and he was right about that—losing Dolly would've truly hurt me.

My mother was like a ghost who haunted our mansion, walking from room to room in a blurry haze, with only intermittent periods of sobriety, usually after my father yelled at her. Dolly was the only adult present—and only half of the time, because she went home every night—that counted.

And when Freddie was worried that wouldn't work anymore—he threatened to kill me.

Which was when Rhaim had saved me.

"Everything else from back then—it sometimes feels blurry," I told her. "What do you remember?"

It was as close as I could get to asking her for the truth. I just wanted some acknowledgement that the weight of my past wasn't mine alone.

Even if finding out that she knew what my uncle was doing to me would've damned her.

She took a moment to think and stroked her smooth cheek in thought—I really needed to find out what her skincare regimen was, because she looked almost the same to me. Then she reached over to hold my hand, and I could see every vein across her bones beneath her thin, elderly skin. "I remember you trying to set up me and Rio, which was ridiculous; I was old enough to be his mother. But you told me that Rio was waiting for me down by the boathouse—and he was really good looking," she said, with a lopsided smile. "You convinced me to. So I did. Just like you wanted. Even though he never showed up." She shook my hand a little. "But I never told anybody, Lia, if that's what you're asking."

I held her hand tightly back. "Thank you."

"I don't know what got into you. Either it was an accident," she said, biting her lips. "Or you must have had your reasons."

My reason was a six-foot man who always wore a suit who kept visiting my house.

And when I couldn't get him to stop—I'd decided to burn my house down around him.