My heart feels lighter after the heart-to-heart with Mum.
It’s been long overdue and I finally got the chance to express everything that lurked inside me. I’m just lucky to have a patient, understanding mother like her.
When I woke up half an hour ago with a sore pussy and arse and found a text message from her, I couldn’t resist calling.
I did put on my shorts and shirt first, though. Talking about Killian is one thing, but letting Mum see the savage marks he left on my body is entirely different.
Thank God, I kept my clothes after I bought the dress—that the brute tore.
After the call, my throat has turned dry, so I tiptoe out of the room and sneak down the stairs.
My steps come to a stop at the threshold of the kitchen and I grip my phone tighter when I realize someone is there.
Shit.
“Oh, Glyn. Come in.” Reina tells me with a smile.
She’s wearing a gorgeous blue satin robe that matches the color of her eyes. “Did you need something?”
I clear my throat to fight the scratchiness. “Just some honey and lemon if you have them.”
“How about I make you herbal tea with honey? It’ll soothe your throat in no time.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
She fixes me a cup of tea that’s similar to hers and places some honey in it.
We sit across from each other and I take the first sip, then wince.
“It’s hot, be careful.” She slides a glass of water in my direction and I take it.
“Thanks. Do you always wake up in the middle of the night to drink herbal tea?”
“Only when I’m too excited to sleep.” She beams. “It’s so rare to have both Gaz and Kill visiting at the same time.”
Her expression becomes distant and a sad smile lifts her lips. “No one told me they’d grow up this fast and leave me. I wish they would go back to being my little boys.”
I sip from the cup and thankfully, it’s not that hot. “Mum says that, too, about us.”
“All moms do.”
We remain silent for a bit as I contemplate the best way to broach the subject that’s been bugging me since I first heard about it.
Apparently, today is courage day, because I murmur, “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“It’s about the incident that happened when Killian was seven.”
Her grip tightens around the cup. “He told you about that?”
“Yes, and he also said that you’ve been afraid of him since. Is that true?”
She pauses, then takes a long sip of her tea. “He thinks that?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not true. I would never be scared of my own son. I’m just…scared of what he could do.” Her gaze gets lost in the distance as her finger traces the rim of her cup. “At that moment, I realized that he’s different, that he has no limits and no one can force them on him. Let’s just say, I have bad memories about people like that. But that doesn’t mean I’m afraid of him.”
Hope blossoms in my chest. If it’s all a misunderstanding, then maybe Killian can move on from that part of his childhood.
Yes, it won’t heal him, since he’s not actually sick, but it’ll at least offer him closure. These are his parents, after all, and no matter how much he wants to pretend it doesn’t affect him, I know it does, at least a little.
“I didn’t know Kill thought that. I’ll talk to him.”
“Please don’t say I told you about it.”
“Don’t worry. We girls have to stick up for each other, remember?” She smiles and places her hand on mine. “Thank you, Glyn.”
“For what?”
“For bringing my baby boy home and putting the light back in his eyes. He lost it years ago and I thought I would never see it again.”
I’m about to say she’s imagining things and that I couldn’t be the reason when a male voice calls from down the hall, “Prom queen? Where are you? You know I can’t sleep without you by my side.”
“Shhh, keep our talk a secret.” She puts a finger to her mouth. “That’s my cue to go.”
Reina slips out of the kitchen and I sneakily follow after her to see how Mr. Carson wraps her in his arms, kisses the top of her head, and stares at her the way Dad stares at Mum.
Like he honestly can’t live without her.
God, will I ever have someone look at me that way?
After they disappear up the stairs, I go back to the kitchen to finish my tea and check my messages.
There’s one from an unknown number at the top. I’m about to delete it, not feeling like getting caught in their mind games anymore, but the <<<video>>> under their name catches my attention.
I open the text and click on the video.
My heart beats so fast when I see Devlin sitting in a small room, across a table from the red mask.
Devlin’s shaking, looking devastated to the core. The changed voice that comes from the red mask makes the skin on the back of my neck stand on end.
“What a weakling. How about you drop dead?”
My fingers shake as I look on to see all hope vanish from Devlin’s eyes.
The video ends.
My mouth fills with salt and that’s when I realize a tear slipped in my mouth.
“What are you looking at?”
The cup in my hand falls and shatters to pieces, letting the liquid smear on the table and drip on the floor.
I slowly stare behind me to find Killian standing at my back, one of his arms taut as he clutches the edge of the chair.
His chest is bare, accentuated by the broken, haunting crows, and his face holds the darkness of a gothic chapel.
I always thought Killian was beautiful in a harsh way, but this is the first time I’ve see him as an actual nightmare.
My hand trembles as I lift it to show him the video. “Is this you?”
He watches it without a change of expression. My spine crowds with chills all over again when those words repeat.
The words of driving a suicidal person to their death.
The words no one should say to a normal person—let alone someone who’s struggling with depression.
When he remains silent, I repeat, more determined this time, “Was the one in the red mask you, Killian?”
“So what if it was?”
I think I’m going to throw up.
Or faint.
Or both.
I stand on shaky legs and start to leave. I don’t know where, but I need to go.
Now.
He grabs my shoulder, but I jerk back and slap it away. “Don’t fucking touch me, you monster.”
“Watch it,” he grinds out.
“Don’t come near me or I’ll go to your parents’ room and scream the whole damn house down. I mean it.”
Then I’m running and running and crying and running.
I can feel the itch under my skin, the need to pull it all out, to end it all like Devlin did.
But I do something else.
I keep running.
