I can’t help smiling a little now. I’m not often spiteful—it’s such a waste of time—but on rare occasion, someone will earn such a high spot on my shit list, I can’t resist fucking with them. Obviously I won’t share with Mia that I did exactly what he feared Dante would do, just so I could give my father the most fitting “fuck you.”
I run things far more efficiently than that old bastard ever did, anyway.
Mia’s gentle voice breaks through my darker thoughts. “But he’s sick now, right?”
I nod, glancing over at her. “Yes, he’s sick now.”
“So you run things for him,” she says, painting this in a much nicer light—as if I’m some dutiful son, instead of the man who unseated the king to steal his throne.
I let her have it and nod once more. “Yes, that’s right.”
Now she smiles, approving of this item she can add to the “not an evil bastard” column on the list she is clearly making. It dims after only a second though, and I’m not sure why until she adds, “Is there any chance of your father getting better, or is it…?”
I give my head a firm shake. “No. There’s no chance of him recovering. It’s just a matter of time until he dies.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, offering me sympathy I don’t need.
I don’t reject it though. The more reasons she has to feel sympathetic…
Actually, no that’s not what I want. Goddammit, why do I keep forgetting that? This is the opposite of what I should be doing. I’m supposed to be making her hate me. Building up sympathy and understanding is the wrong thing to do. I’m supposed to be performing, playing up my dark side, showing her someone she won’t want to protect. Much as I hate to agree with Adrian on this, right now even I’m not sure she’ll talk. Her heart is soft to begin with, prone to seeking out reasons to understand and sympathize with people. I assumed that my hurting her would turn that off like it would for most anyone, but it isn’t working out that way. She’s still prone to protecting me.
“Have you been abused?”
Her eyes widen with surprise and she looks over at me. “What?”
“During childhood or at any point before you met us.”
Frowning, she says, “Um, no. That’s a random getting-to-know-you question.”
“Well, you said you want to study psychology, correct? So, surely you can see why I wonder if you have a pattern of behavior. From what I’ve seen, you protect your abusers. I just want to know when it started.”
“I don’t protect my abusers,” she says, sounding somewhat annoyed. “I don’t have abusers.”
That makes me trust her denial a little less. “Really?” I ask, failing to keep the skepticism out of my tone. “You don’t think you’ve been abused.”
Scowling, she says, “That’s not—I don’t… Obviously what you did to me the other day was horrible, but I’m not…”
“I wasn’t just talking about me. Didn’t Vince throw you up against a wall the other day?”
“No.” I’m making her angry. That’s interesting. It angers her that I’m reviewing the abusive bullshit that’s been done to her because she doesn’t want to be a person who was abused in any capacity? Maybe that’s not it. Since she doesn’t seem to think primarily of her own self-image, I’m probably looking at this wrong. How would Mia’s brain process this? It wouldn’t be about her, but about the other person.
She doesn’t want us to be abusers. If she doesn’t accuse us, then we’re not. Maybe even in that, she’s trying to protect us.
She isn’t going to talk. Or, if she does, it’s going to be an accident. They might trip her up and get something out of her, but at this point, she’s not going to talk because she wants to. This girl has no malicious intent, not even after all I’ve done to her.
What if I just kept her? My schedule is self-imposed. There’s no consequence if I change my mind. Beth didn’t hate me to begin with, and neither does Mia. I could keep her for a while. Enjoy her while it feels good. I just won’t make the same mistake I made with Beth, I won’t get so attached that I can’t let go once it wears off. When she becomes disenchanted with me, then I can get rid of her. Why should I get rid of her when I still like her?
I’m not going to.
I’m going to keep her.
Fuck it.
I feel relieved on the surface, but just below it fear bubbles up. I hate that fucking feeling, but flashes of Beth come back to me. That woman fucking destroyed me. Giving someone that kind of power over you… it’s too much trust. It’s like building a castle around a landmine and showing someone where the button is to set it off. It gives her too much power.