The IV pole was on one side of the bed, and I followed the tubing to a wrinkled hand. Then I dragged my gaze up a thin chest until I was staring into the face of a man I hadn’t seen in so long.
Michael Cronus had never been a true grandfather in any sense of the word. I rarely saw him, but I’d known he’d been sick. I’d heard my parents discussing his declining health.
He lay on the far side of the bed, oxygen tubing placed in his nose, his focus trained on me. His chest rose and fell slowly, as if he struggled, the sound coming from him a wheeze.
His mouth moved as if he were trying to say something to me. I could see the twitching of his finger, like he wanted me to come closer. And I did that.
I stepped farther into the room and shivered. Why did it feel so much colder here? Horrid images of my grandfather and father beating Hades moved through my mind. It choked me up.
Michael had been so icy my entire life. He’d never given me a warm smile, never told me he loved me. I didn’t spend time with him—not that I wanted to—but because he’d been so disinterested in me as a granddaughter that I wasn’t even on his radar.
And I was his flesh and blood.
The things he’d done to Hades… my body instantly reacted, bile rising in my throat. I could have thrown up.
I moved closer, the hatred growing inside of me. I was shocked at how dark my thoughts were going.
He lay there unmoving, his milky white eyes trained on me as I stared at his decaying form.
“I know what you did,” I whispered. It didn’t make a difference whether he knew I was aware of the abuse or not, but the words had already spilled out. “I know what a piece of shit you are, you bastard. I know you feel no remorse. You’re evil and lived your life as such. You’ll die soon. All alone with nobody caring what happens to you.” My throat grew tighter, and I gasped for air.
I found my hands already at the edge of my shirt, tightening around the material, as if I needed something to stabilize me. An anchor to keep me in this world.
The blood rushed through my ears, my pulse pounded in the base of my neck, and I couldn’t look away from Michael even if a gun had been pointed to my head.
“This whole time I thought Hades was this horrible person. In reality, you created who and what he is. You and my father. You’re the actual monsters.”
Michael sounded like he was really having trouble breathing. And the heart monitor he was hooked up to beeped frantically as the rate increased.
Even if he could speak, I wouldn’t have wanted to hear a word that came from his vile mouth.
I looked at the small bedside table that held medication bottles, syringes, and other medical paraphernalia. But that wasn’t what had my heart skipping a beat or my stomach feeling like a rock was lodged in it.
It felt like someone had sucker punched me in the side of the head all over again. The room spun, and I reached out, gripping the banister of the bed.
Sitting there—the small sliver of daylight forcing its way through a part in the curtain and showing the shiny tri-colored wood—was my father’s box. My knees buckled as I took a step toward it.
I moved forward until I stood right in front of the box and could reach down and pick it up. I held it in my hands. It was so heavy, heavier than I remembered. But for the weight in my palms, it seemed so much smaller now.
I closed my eyes as I pictured my father touching this very thing. But I didn’t feel happiness or love anymore. I felt this acidic bile rise in my throat.
The man I’d loved—the one who wrapped me up in a cobalt wool blanket because it helped me sleep at night during storms—wasn’t the man I looked up to.
He was a monster who beat his younger brother until his little body had been riddled with scars. He’d taken away Hades’ innocence, and in its place created something else.
I squeezed my fingers tightly around the wood, this urge to tear it apart, to break it into a hundred different pieces running so strong in me I almost threw it against the wall.
My muscles tensed, my body ready to do just that. But I breathed out slowly and looked down at it, tracing the lock that was unlatched. It had always been locked.
My grandfather wheezed again, but all I could picture was him hitting Hades repeatedly, scarring Hades until he’d never be the same.
“I hate you,” I whispered. “I hate my father.” Tears fell in rivers down my cheeks, blurring my vision. “You both should wear the scars, not Hades.”
I didn’t realize I’d let the box fall from my grasp until I heard it hit the ground, and felt the pictures scatter around my feet.
My heart jumped into my throat as I stared down at what was a literal nightmare staring right back at me. With a shaky hand, I reached down and picked up several of them, my body breaking out in a cold sweat.
God. The air left me violently as I looked at picture after picture of Hades beaten, bloody, and… so young. A teenager who had dead, swollen and bruised eyes as he stared at the camera. And the men who alternated in each one posing with the man I loved… my father and grandfather.