I stood in front of the full body length mirror, eyeing my reflection as the group of stylists put on the finishing touches.
The silk fabric of the dress I wore had an illusion of almost just being draped over me, clinging to every curve and the sleeves barely staying on my shoulders.
My eyes were covered with dark shadows to hide the fading bruise on my right eye and the makeup artist had taken great care to conceal every patch of bruise the couldn't be hidden by my dress. My hair was pulled into a chignon with the fringe framing my forehead and one of the stylists was setting the flower hair comb that Father had donated for the auction.
Gramps had given it to my grandmother on their wedding day as her something new. Gammy had left it to me in her will along with a letter telling me that even though she couldn't attend my future wedding, she still wanted to be there in some way and to wear the hair comb as my something old.
It was the only piece of jewelry that I've ever let myself own and Father knew how much it meant to me. Him giving it away without my consent was his way of punishing me for not submitting to his wrath.
As I stared at it, I suddenly felt like I was losing my grandmother all over again and just like that time, I didn't understand why someone would take her from me.
"God, it's beautiful," the hair stylist murmured in awe as she appraised the hair comb. "I can't believe you'd give it up."
"Anything for the kids," I forced myself to say.
I gave myself one last glance before walking out of the room, a clutch in hand and my feet bearing with five inch Louboutins. Rick was sitting in the living room, dressed in a sharp tuxedo that made him look like a million bucks.
He stood at my entrance, his eyes slowly raking over me from head to toe. I stood awkwardly as he scrutinized me with his gaze and I became aware of the familiar shift in his eyes. The desire. For this empty shell. Just like everyone else, but unlike with everyone else, I knew, he didn't just simply desire this empty shell. He desired me.
"You're beautiful," he said with a smile as he approached me.
He was about to kiss my cheek when I turned away.
"Let's go."
I could tell he wanted to say something but held back and just followed me. We had spent the entire day in an awkward and tense situation. We didn't talk. We made irrelevant chatter while watching movies together but it was only to get by. I didn't even know why he insisted on coming with besides the fact that if he didn't, I'd be stuck with my mother's boy toy for the day.
I'd take Rick's company over Andre's any day. That fact somehow pissed me off. What pissed me off even more was that I had no idea what we were doing or why I had told him to stay. I just stopped thinking about it. Stopped caring. Caring was too tiring. I was exhausted enough as it is.
I gritted my teeth as Luis opened the front door, a fake smile plastered on his lips.
"Have a good day, Miss Lastor."
I gave him a glare. "Pack your shit."
His eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing. "Is there something wrong, Ma'am?"
I smiled. "Yes, you. You piss the hell out of me."
He started flustering. "I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"She's just teasing," Rick interjected, coming to my side. "She doesn't mean it."
I scoffed. "Course I do."
Rick chuckled, surprising me by placing a kiss on my temple. "Thank you for everything, Luis. Have a nice day."
Luis nodded uncertainly, passing me a wary glance that I returned with a glare. He scrambled away from me.
"You shouldn't abuse your authority, Angel," Rick chided.
"When you've had people prying into your life and feeding you bullshit lines every fucking day, then you can tell me what to do. Till then, fuck off," I spat, marching out the door and spotting the limo parked by the curb of the street.
Rick caught up with me just as the chauffer opened the door.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
I passed him an irritated glare. "Nothing."
He sighed, taking a step closer. "There obviously is. Just say it. I don't want to deal with your bitch side today."
"Too bad cuz I'm always a bitch."
He clenched his jaw, glaring at me. "Are you going to start pushing me away again? I thought we've settled that?"
"For god sakes, Rick! Will you stop asking me questions?!" I snapped and got inside the limo.
It took me three seconds to be aware of the two other people inside the vehicle. My mother and brother. Awesome.
Rick slid into my side, shaking his head and muttering to himself. Jude passed me a questioning glance which I ignored by turning my head to face the window. The limo pulled into the road while my anxiety began to hike up.
I needed my fix. I didn't have anything on me anymore. My rations had ran out and the rest were back at the mansion. To make matters worse, I haven't had a drop of alcohol since last night because Jude had made sure not keep any in the townhouse.
I was losing it. I should have known better than to socialize while suffering from acute withdrawal symptoms. I'd probably end up ripping someone's face off for smiling at me.
"Do we have champagne?" I demanded.
Jude had a scrutinizing look in his eyes as he passed me a glass. I easily ignored him and accepted the blissful drink, downing it the moment it passed my lips. I held out the glass for more but Jude shook his head, a grim look settling on his face. I bit back the urge to scream and just threw the glass to the side.
"Are you okay, darling?" I heard my mother coo, feigning concern.
I pursed my lips, turning to face the window. "Yes, Mother."
"Andre was quite disappointed you rejected his invitation to go to the party together."
When I glanced at her, I saw the resentment in her eyes, hidden behind her pretty face.
"I already have a date," I muttered.
She smiled, sliding her eyes to Rick, slowly raking her gaze over him like a ravenous predator. She was looking at him as if she was envisioning the ways she'd bring him to her mercy. It would have made me sick, if it didn't piss me off so much.
"How do you do, Frederick?" she asked, her voice suddenly a notch lower and her accent becoming thicker.
"I'm quite well, Mrs. Lastor," he responded in a flat note, averting his eyes from her and settling his gaze on me as he shifted in discomfort.
He probably couldn't look at her without seeing her bent over the couch and getting the fuck of her life.
I sighed and, for some unknown reason, I pulled him to me, draping his arm around my shoulder and placing a hand on his thigh. If that wasn't staking a claim then I didn't know what the hell was.
I ignored the shock and speculation in my brother's eyes at the gesture. Mother's eyes narrowed at our position.
She could deny it but I knew a fraction of her hatred towards me was because I was younger. Men liked fresh meat and I barely had to lift a finger to attract them. Her, on the other hand, had to resort to bribery and manipulation among other things.
"Better?" I whispered beside Rick's ear.
"Yes," he said in relief.
I offered a small smile and kissed his cheek. He frowned, looking at me strangely but I just shrugged.
"You're so weird," he grumbled while I snorted.
He shook his head, letting out a soft breath and I felt his body relax as he pulled me closer to him, almost as if I was his talisman against my mother's lustful gaze directed on his crotch. She wasn't even trying to hide it.
"I wasn't aware you two were together. When did you and Andre break up?" Mother asked, the fake concern churning my gut.
She was probably pissed she couldn't use me as an excuse to be around her boy toy in public without causing a scandal.
"You aren't aware of lots of things, Mother. Like how Andre and I were never together."
Her guise faltered, a scowl setting on her features before quickly vanishing. She was such a master of disguise and manipulation, she could rival my father.
"No need to be aggressive. It was just a simple question," she said, feigning hurt as if I had offended her but I knew she was itching to slap me. She probably would have if we didn't have an outsider observing our fucked up family.
I sighed, pressing my temples. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm just not feeling very well."
I needed a fucking drink. I needed a goddamn smoke. I needed some fucking snow shoved up my nose. I needed all of this shit in my head to go away.
Breathe. We're okay.
Rick suddenly took my hand and I flinched, glancing at him. He smiled lightly, placing a kiss on my knuckles and holding my hand in a gentle grip almost for assurance. And there it was again, that sense of comfort he brought with his presence, easing my nerves and making it bearable for me to breathe.
Turn it off.
"Did you sleep well?" Jude asked, his voice gentle, as if he was talking to a little girl. It pissed me off.
"Do I ever?"
"You don't have to come if you don't want to."
"Just because I feel like shit doesn't mean I can disobey our father. Besides..." I sighed, closing my eyes. "I'm only going for the free booze."
* * *
The Brooklyn Botanical Garden was like a piece of heaven set in the concrete jungle that was New York City. The landscaping seemed to have been done to perfection and with the seasonal bloom, it made quite the stunning spectacle.
The sight of dozens of photographers pushing and shoving each other to get a better angle of the arriving guests rendered me unable to breathe.
I stepped out of the limo, cringing as the horde of photographers turned their cameras to me. Panic froze me and I couldn't move, the flashing of lights blinding me and their yelling deafening me.
Rick came to stand beside me, offering his arm, and I took it, letting him guide me to the red carpet. Casting away my emotions, I brought out the character that I've long mastered.
I gave everyone willing to watch the show of their lives as I strode with perfect grace, my shoulders leveled and my head up, leaving an air of superiority in my wake. Men looked my way, their lustful gazes raking over me, while the women sent me jealous glares, remedied by an accompanying perfect smile.
When I flashed my well-practiced smirk, every fucking camera focused on me.
Being Angel Lastor was easy. All I had to do was be pretty.
"Who's the guy, Angel?"
"Where's Andre?"
"Angel, on your right!"
"Angel!"
"Angel!"
"Stop smiling like that. You look like a psychotic girl scout," I whispered in Rick's ear. He pursed his lips together. "Don't stop smiling either. Only Jude can pull that off."
"I don't know how to do this," he hissed, keeping an unnatural smile on his lips.
I sighed. "Straighten your back. Relax your shoulders. Elongate your neck. Don't puff your chest out."
He followed my instructions in order with seemingly great difficulty. I pressed a palm on his abdomen to still his incessant fidgeting, angling my body to the side and popping my knee out the slit of my dress. I tilted my head slightly and flashed another smile.
"Put one hand in your pocket and one on my waist, and then take a long look at each camera starting from the left side to the right. Do it slowly and shift your feet as you go along."
I did the same, inwardly smothering the nausea swimming in the pit of my stomach.
"Now look at me and bring out your biggest smile."
I kept my head turned to the side, focused on the cameras. When I turned to face him, our eyes locked. I pressed a hand to my mouth, feigning modesty.
They ate up the trick, snapping a hundred pictures a second while screaming for more. I wanted to vomit my guts out.
I glanced at Jude as he stood beside us with his hands in his pockets, a brooding look set on his unsmiling face. Socially awkward as usual.
He looked my way and, instinctively, I went to his side. If there was anything the media loved more than catching sight of a possible new beau of mine, it was seeing the Lastor Siblings together.
The PR team our father hired to execute our first red carpet appearance many years ago had managed to cement us as the most eligible bachelor and bachelorette in the world, respectively, through careful manipulation. And with such absurd titles also came an equally absurd amount of attention that only grew as we got older and it became morally acceptable to lust after us. Even my scandalous exploits couldn't knock me down from the top of the hierarchy, in fact, it only made me more desirable. Our mere presence brought prestige to even the most pedestrian event and our names attracted those desperate for recognition.
At least that's what our PR team made it look like.
"Your hands are shaking," Jude whispered, kissing my temple.
I hid my hands, placing one on his back and gripping my clutch tightly with the other.
"You didn't tell me there was a red carpet."
"I would've told you if I had known," he said, searing the cameras with a piercing stare. "The last thing we need is Father finding a picture of you and Rick on the cover of a magazine tomorrow."
I glanced at Rick, seeing him make awkward poses while unconsciously trying to loosen his tie.
"At least it'll distract from Stella."
"For now."
"I told you, I'll protect her," I said, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. "Just keep her out of the public eye and I won't have a problem with my end."
"You still haven't told me what you're doing to ensure her safety."
I smiled, turning to face him and feigning to adjust his collar. "As long as you don't know, it means everything's fine. It's when you notice something that you should start to worry."
I went to Rick, looping our arms together before heading inside The Palm House, a gorgeous glass-walled structure, and were welcomed by the governor and his wife as they stood by the entrance, greeting their guests with fake ass smiles and even faker words.
"Governor Branson," I greeted curtly, pecking his cheeks. "Oh, Tabitha, only you could have chosen such a wonderful place," I gushed, mentally rolling my eyes as I pecked her cheeks too.
"Don't you just love the scents?" she cooed, making a show of inhaling the air.
"It's such a pleasure to have you join us, Angel," Governor Branson said, the words practically coming through gritted teeth.
Corruption was a local thing here in New York, almost like a shared ideal, and Governor William Branson was its poster child. He could talk before an entire country and make them believe he gave a damn about each and every one of them. That's why the people of New York fell under his charm.
What they didn't know was he was also a known figure in the underground, namely for literally owning half of the NYPD and consequently offering drug lords and traffickers a free pass on every possible crime they committed in the state, at a price of course. They even sponsored his campaign as governor. I knew this because I was also one of his sponsors and had a direct influence in getting him into the governor's mansion.
I smirked, catching him swallow down his own spit. "Anywhere you need me, you know I'm always there.
"And who is this handsome young man?" he said teasingly, forcibly shifting the conversation.
Rick held out a hand. "Frederick Richardson," he said as he shook the governor's hand. "It's an honor to be here, sir."
His brows furrowed. "Frederick Richardson? I know that name."
Rick chuckled. "Either from my grandfather or father. I was the third less fortunate person to be given that name," he said, so goddamn charming and yet I was sure he wasn't even faking it.
"Ah! Yes! Freddie's son? Where is he? I was sure I invited him. Don't tell me he died!" the governor gushed.
"My father is well and I wouldn't be surprised if he outlived the rest of us. Although I'm not sure he's coming. That man never gets out of bed on a Sunday," Rick said with light humor.
The governor let out a boisterous laugh. "Ah! The lazy bastard! I don't even know how he got through law school with his stubborn ass."
His wife slapped his arm lightly, a look of amusement and disapproval on her face. "Bill. Don't be so crass."
"Just welcoming our guests," he snickered, patting Rick's shoulder. "You two go on. We'll catch up later. You better not have too much fun."
"How much fun could we have in a gathering aimed for the construction of a new public school for the underprivileged youth of our city?" I said innocently.
"I'm sure you'll find a way. God knows you always do," he teased, laughing out loud at his own words.
"You would know, won't you, sweetheart?" I muttered wryly and he visibly paled.
We entered the greenhouse, greeting the other guests with polite smiles and making small talk as we made our way around. The guestlist basically comprised of a 'who's who in the upper class', from politicians to wealthy business moguls and even royalty, making it clear that this was more of a networking event than a fundraiser for a charitable cause.
It was a lovely thing to see, all these people quietly loathing each other while reveling in their filthy money together. An honest man was something of a rarity in our world, a myth even. I grew up surrounded by perfectly orchestrated lies that you would be convinced they were real. The smiles, the hairs, the laughter. It was all lies. Even this damn party was a lie.
After spending the next half hour listening with half an ear to financiers talk about the stock market, politicians discussing their policies, and philantropists acting like fucking saints for feeding a kid in some third-world country one meal, chugging champagne was no longer enough.
Muttering a quiet excuse, I dragged Rick for to open bar, ordering a glass of whiskey. Straight up.
Rick quietly watched as I downed the glass like a man in the desert, finally able to quench his thirst after an eternity of deprivation.
I shamelessly let out a breath of relief. That's better.
"So, how do you know the governor?" I asked, deciding to divert his attention from me emptying the bar as I ordered for another glass.
"He and my Dad were close friends back in law school."
I nodded, only just realizing that he was practically a stranger to me and yet he knew shit ton about me.
"Richardson..." I mused as I tapped my nails over the surface of the bar, scouring my brain for knowledge of that family name. "A family of lawyers and bankers with roots that can be traced back to Poland. Wealthy enough to have the privilege to brush shoulders with the ruling elite but too new and, not that I care, too Jewish, to be fully accepted into New York's high society."
"Uh... ouch, but true."
I chuckled. "Correct me if I'm wrong; Frederick Richardson Sr. is a sitting judge who gained the reputation of being a ruthless champion for civil rights during his time as an ADA where he prosecuted a construction company for covering up the deaths of nine black men who died while on the job and winning the case, deliberately causing the company to go bankrupt."
I glanced at him, seeing the amused smile on his lips.
"That's right. How did you know that?"
"I attend at least three social gatherings in a month out of duty. It's a necessity to know these things. I may forget a face but never a name," I said before taking a light sip of my drink. "Though I doubt your grandfather would find it amusing if he sees you on the cover of every tabloid magazine in the country wrapped around someone who has been suspected of being a member of the biggest drug cartel to come out of Latin America since the Medellin Cartel."
He scoffed. "That's just one of the many lies the media spreads about you."
"Is it?" I smirked. "I already told you, what you saw last night was barely half of the cautionary tale that is Angel Lastor." I downed my drink and let out a sigh. "You don't know me, Rick, and for your own sake, you should keep it that way," I said, gesturing for the bartender to give me another.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "You just can't stop trying, can you?"
"Trying what?"
"To scare me."
He leaned closer, taking my glass and downing the drink with a wince.
"Everything about you is dangerous, there's no doubt about that. I've known it ever since I met you, even before that, actually. The first time I laid eyes on you all those years ago, it was like I lost all control of my senses and everything just focused on you. You were at least fifty feet away from me but it was like I was right next to you. Feeling your fingers as they glided on the piano keys. Smelling the scent of strawberries in your hair that's become so familiar to me. Seeing every inch of the darkness that surrounds and fills you. Being burned by the passion in your eyes. I'd never felt something so intense and consuming before, but you being a freaking minor and me knowing the fact that you are the most precious thing in the world to Jude, I made myself forget about that night. It was easy, forgetting about a girl I never met but I wouldn't lie and tell you that you never crossed my mind, because you have. Out of nowhere, often times when I was stressed with school or when I couldn't sleep, I would remember that night and everything inside me would settle, as if you were the peace I needed. It didn't make sense to me, feeling a connection to someone who didn't even know I existed but then, as fate would have it, I met you and the peace that my memory of you gave me was replaced by a fierce inferno."
He paused, letting out a heavy breath as if the words he was saying had been burdening him all this time.
"You're dangerous. Not because of your criminal history or violent tendencies but because of what you could do to me. I know I should walk away if I want to save myself from being ruined by you but every time I try, I just keep being pulled back to you. Call it curiosity or just flat out stupidity, but I need to know why I'm so damned obsessed with you and in order for me to do that, I have to know you. So you can't scare me, Angel, not when I'm already so fucking terrified."
I stared at him, completely stunned by his admission and I found myself grasping onto my locks, my walls, my control, as those navy blue pair fixed solely on me with the kind of intensity that made me feel like he was stripping everything away. I suddenly felt myself panic, unable to do anything but stare at him.
"Breathe, baby," he whispered, bringing his face a breadths inch from mine. "I won't hurt you."
I sucked in a breath, forcing it through the tightness in my throat.
"Let's go," he said with a smile. "People are starting to get seated."
I blinked, turning my head away and gathering my composure. He offered his arm and I let out a deep breath before taking it.
I easily caught sight of my brother as he sat with our mother and the governor's family at a table near the stage. Rick pulled out the chair beside Jude's for me and I sat down just as the host sauntered his way to the stage and called the governor to make his opening statement.
He thanked the guests for supporting the cause and delivered a well-practiced speech about its purpose that somehow highlighted him before signaling the servers to bring out the appetizers. I just sat quietly as chatter filled our table, taking small bites from my food whenever Jude knocked his knee against mine.
"So what business are you in, Frederick?" the governor's daughter, Avery, asked all of a sudden as she sat beside him, batting her eyelashes and twirling her hair like a goddamn harlot.
Rick smiled. "I'm a doctor, actually."
"Really?" she gushed, as if being a medical professional was the most exciting thing in the world. "I'm on a pre-med track at Yale. Where did you go?"
"I went to Yale too, same as you."
"Really?" she gushed again. "What are the chances? Wait, don't tell me, you're also an NYC Sci-Tech Prep alumnus."
He chuckled. "I am."
"Oh my god. We're like the same person!"
I scoffed. "Like hell you are."
"Hm?" Rick turned to face me, draping an arm over my chair. "You said something, gorgeous?"
"Nothing. I just feel a little sick," I said, glancing at Avery. "You were saying, Ashley?"
She smiled forcefully. "It's Avery, actually."
"Oh, is it? I'm terrible with names. Sorry about that, Ava."
She looked pissed off but still, she smiled. "I'm sorry if I offended you in any way, Angel. I was just-"
I held up a hand and she finally shut the fuck up. "Go away, Amy."
She pursed her lips and turned away. Rick looked at me, his eyes alight with amusement.
"What?" I said innocently.
He smiled wryly. "You're quite territorial, aren't you?"
I made a face. "Ugh. Shut up."
He chuckled, putting a hand on my thigh and leaning in. "Mean girl," he whispered before kissing my cheek.
I heard Jude clear his throat, swatting Rick's hand off my thigh. "Easy, brother," he warned.
Rick held up his hands and leaned back in his seat.
"Sorry."
I glared at Jude and shifted to lean against Rick as I put a hand on his thigh. Rick grimaced when Jude looked as if his head was about to explode.
The entrees were served and the auction started midway. I muted the host's ramblings about the first item, a painting by some obscure artist, and just busied myself with my phone, replying to the messages from Andrea telling me about the first show of her tour and that I had to come and party with her tonight.
I was reading Andrea's detailed account of her hook up with an actor who apparently liked to, quite literally, get fruity in bed when Jude snatched my phone.
"Hey!"
"You're up," he said, cocking his head towards the stage.
I faced front and found the host smiling at me. I forced a smile and got up, the men at the table following suit out of courtesy. I grabbed the flute of champagne Rick was nursing and downed it before making my way to the stage.
"A round of applause for the breathtakingly beautiful Angel Lastor!" the host urged the crowd as he led me to the center of the stage.
I inwardly cringed at the feel of having so many eyes on me and focused my gaze on Rick instead as he sat at the table, hooting and clapping like an idiot.
"To begin with, the item is not the lady herself," the host began, receiving sounds of dismay and chuckles from the crowd. "But! You would be so lucky nevertheless, for the winner will be the first audience to a private concert of the prodigous Angel Lastor in five years!"
A concert? Jude didn't tell me about that. What about Gammy's comb?
Fuck. What the fuck.
The bidding kickstarted while I wrung my fingers stiffened by panic as I listened to the bids go higher and higher. I didn't know what I dreaded more, being forced into humiliating myself with a pitiful performance or the fact that these people – men – weren't really bidding to hear my music, but to have me.
Stop. Make it stop.
I should have just let Father beat me. I'm so stupid. So, so fucking stupid.
"Thirty million dollars!"
My head snapped up at the sound of my brother's voice.
"Outstanding!" the host gushed. "Thirty million dollars from Jude Lastor! Do I hear a counter?"
A man raised his numbered paddle from somewhere in the crowd. The host quickly latched on it.
"Forty!" my brother immediately added.
"Forty-five!"
Jude was about to counter when Mother grabbed his arm and whispered something in his ear.
Ah, Jude can't save me.
"Forty six!" someone yelled out.
"Fifty!" another bellowed.
"Goodness! Fifty million dollars from His Highness Prince Ahmad! Do I hear a counter?"
My knees were seeking the ground and my head was becoming too heavy to keep it up.
I had to submit. I had to beg. I had to break.
Only then would Father spare me.
I own you.
You belong to me.
You're nothing without me.
I decide who you fuck, whore.
"One hundred!" I heard Jude yell out, snapping me out of the haze of panic overcoming my senses. "And I'll counter every bid anyone offers!"
Everyone was looking at him in shock and by the lack of bids following his, it was clear no one would dare challenge a Lastor in a battle of wealth.
"One hundred million dollars!" the host spluttered out in disbelief. "Calling once! Calling twice!" He waited for a beat before slamming his gavel on the podium. "Sold to Jude Lastor for a record breaking one hundred million dollars!"
A series of deafening applause filled the room and I let out the breath I didn't realize I had been holding, feeling tears escape my eyes.
Jude stood, making his way to the stage to claim and at that moment, I didn't bother masking my emotions from the world. I threw my arms around him, crying in relief.
"You shouldn't have done that," I said, clinging to him. "Father's going to be furious."
"I don't care," he murmured. "I'm sorry you had to go through this. Luis told me it would be the haircomb."
"It's fine. Thank you," I whispered.
"I wouldn't have allowed any of them to take anything from you. Especially your music." He pulled back, cupping my cheeks in his palms. "We're okay."
I nodded, quickly gathering my composure. "We're okay."
We forced a smile on our lips and took a bow before going back to our table. The magazine reporter who had exclusive rights to the coverage of the event immediately approached us, armed with a group of photographers. Jude declined to comment and I just ignored them as I settled back in my seat. Mother was glaring at me but I was far too relieved to care.
I was the last item to be auctioned off and the entertainment quickly followed. The guests were still gossiping about the apparently historical event that had unexpectedly transpired and I despised every glance they sent my way, as if they couldn't look enough.
By the time desserts were served, I couldn't stand the attention anymore and excused myself, feigning to go to the powder room.
I went outside for a smoke but a horde of reporters and photographers had managed to enter the garden, a line of guards struggling to keep them away from the building.
I hastily walked away from the crowd, taking off my heels and running when they started following me. I searched for a place that could at least serve as my sanctuary and spotted a shed on the far off end of the garden and headed for it.
As I entered the small yet beautifully structured shed that sheltered various young buds, I let myself breathe as it offered some essence of tranquility. Silence.
I lit up a cigarette, wandering around for a moment. I found a wooden bench by one corner and sat down.
I took out the flask my brother had given me for my birthday from my clutch. I had filled it with scotch last night, just in case I needed some emergency fuel. I had been tempted to down it this morning if it weren't for Rick's presence.
I sighed, unclasping the cap and emptying the flask in one breath, relishing at the feel of the liquid glide along my throat. It tasted like water to me. I was that long gone. Well-aged scotch was nothing but piss water to me now.
Hatred churned my gut, nauseating me. I didn't know how I became like this. It was like I woke up one day and I couldn't remember what had happened but something surely did because no one wakes up an alcoholic. That shit takes time. Time that I've wasted by merely floating through it in a high and drunken daze.
I could barely remember the past ten years, which was a fact that terrified me whenever I let myself think of it. Sometimes, Andrea would talk about something that we had done in high school and I would find myself at a loss, incapable of remembering something I never really knew.
I pursed my lips, screwing my eyes shut as something inexplicable pierced the back of my head and I gritted my teeth to hold back a sharp cry. It was constant, the pain. I couldn't get rid of it no matter how much I tried. I didn't know where it came from. It felt like it's always been there. Growing. Consuming. Gnawing. And yet, I was empty, with nothing but a void that sucked in whatever life was left in me.
I was fucked up in more ways than one. I knew that. I've accepted that. Didn't mean I liked it. Hell, I hated it to the core. Being so fucked up and not knowing why. That was what I hated the most, the fact that I didn't even know what was happening to me. Why I was like this. Why I was so goddamn fucked up.
Rick's words came back to me, those awful words that dug through my skull. He was right. Nobody could stand being with someone like me. So goddamn damaged it was pathetic.
I heard the sound of someone crying and I realized it was me. I was crying. I hated myself even more. Tears made me feel weak. I didn't want to be weak. I hated being weak. But the truth was, I was weak. Weaker than anyone in the world because I couldn't even stand the thought of being with someone who wanted me for some reason.
God, he was fucking with my head.
"Angel?" I heard his voice and the irony made me laugh.
Of course he'd be here. Of course he'd witness me fall apart again. Of course. Of fucking course.
"What now? Are you going to ask why I'm crying or are you going to tell me it's okay and let me cry on your shoulder?" I laughed mockingly. "Just leave me alone, Rick."
Like the idiot that he was, he sat beside me instead. He didn't move to reach for me. He didn't tell me to stop crying. Or even said anything. He just sat there while I tried to get a grip of my controls again. Shutting down my emotions like how I was taught because it was always better not to feel anything.
'The downfall of most people is they involve emotions in everything when it isn't necessary,' my mother had once said.
It had been the first and only moment we shared where wasn't openly hostile or putting up a pretense. She had even done my makeup and personally directed the maids as they prepared me for my date with one of Father's business associates.
The man was fifty eight years old while I was sixteen then. Father needed to seal a business deal with him. Something about having his pharmaceuticals company merge with ours or shit like that. I never cared enough to know.
George Bedford, his name was. George apparently thought I was pretty and had been fantasizing about me ever since he saw me perform at an event when I was fucking twelve years old.
He had taken me out on a date. I flirted with him, made him feel ten feet tall and a fucking rock star at every word I uttered. I did the whole spiel the way Mother told me to. He was putty by the time dessert came. And then afterwards, he took me to his hotel room for some drinks. I didn't realize I had passed out somewhere along the way until I had woken up while he was fucking my ass.
Father got his deal and I was raped for the first time.
'You did well, bastard,' my father had said the morning after.
I accepted it, the petty appreciation. It was the only genuine praise I had ever gotten from him and I was pathetic enough to accept it.
Truly a memory to remember. It wasn't the worst thing I had to endure though. I'll take rape over a beating from my father any day. He had a really good fist and knew how to whip his belt.
That fact somehow made me laugh, that something so fucked up was more favorable than another fucked up thing. It was laughable, my life.
Rick looked at me, eyeing me strangely as I laughed at my pathetic life and then like the fucked up person that I was, I started crying again.
My shoulders shook as I bent over, burying my face in my hands as I sobbed like an idiot.
Poor and pathetic little Angel can't handle what life offers her.
Boo-fucking-hoo.
"Fuck, I can't take this anymore," I heard Rick mutter and in one swift move, I was on his lap, his arms around me and my face pressed against the crook of his neck.
His scent engulfed me, calming me as he embraced me tightly, almost as if he was afraid I'd run if he didn't. But I was tired of running away from him. I was tired of fighting these things that he brought out of me. I was tired of denying the fact that I indeed felt something no matter how much I tried not to.
Because feeling something was wrong. Emotions hurt people. They were unnecessary. I don't think I'd handle what this man would do to me.
"God, Angel, I'm so sorry," he whispered, his face in my hair. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."
He trailed kisses all over me, all the while pleading for forgiveness and then I realized he must be thinking I was crying because of him.
I chuckled, somehow amused. When I pulled away, my laughter faded from my lips at the sight of him. He looked anguished. God, the pain in him contested mine.
He was hurting because he thought he hurt me. He did. But not nearly enough to break me. I could take more pain than anyone. I knew. I was sure of that.
"This isn't your fault," I said, pointing at my face.
His brows furrowed in confusion and I pursed my lips, holding back a smile. He was too good sometimes.
"Then why are you crying so much?" he whispered, his voice rough.
I shook my head, leaning my forehead against his, taking in the beautiful sight of his eyes. They seemed so bright, filled with so much of everything that I had lost a long time ago. So much light. Kindness. Compassion. Sincerity. Purity.
The navy blue of his eyes bore into me so deeply, they pierced through me, bringing light into the darkest corners of my empty shell and my demons screeched, hating his proximity, hating that I was letting him in again. I ignored them.
He cupped my cheeks, brushing my tears away with his thumbs before placing light kisses over my cheeks, my eyes, my forehead, my lips. He kissed every inch of the mask I wore to keep people from seeing the ugly things I hid inside and at every gentle kiss of his lips, it felt like he was stripping away everything I've built, everything that hid my true self. The broken, lost, and forgotten little Angel I had to bury deep inside myself so I could survive. And yet, he was cherishing this empty monster that I had become nonetheless.
Our lips met almost hesitantly, fear and uncertainty filling the space between us but this thing... this rope pulling me to him was becoming harder to fight against and I just let go, letting myself collide against him as I straddled him and pressed my lips to his in a frantic kiss.
He responded immediately, clutching the back of my head while my fingers fisted at the front of his shirt, wanting to tear it open to feel him completely.
The fear and uncertainty vanished, replaced by a ferocious need for him. It wasn't just lust. No, I've felt lust. Lust didn't make you feel this way. Lust was selfish. Uncaring. Fleeting. This thing... this was passion. I knew because I had it once.
Every time I played music, I would be so consumed by it that the only thing that existed was my need to release myself through every note and I would lose all sense of awareness. When I lost that passion, I became crippled. Incapable of playing a single melody. But now, it was back and I suddenly felt alive.
Just like that, fear creeped back in like a thief, threatening to take away what I had just recovered.
I pulled away, panting. I tried to move but he held my hips in place, his forehead pressed against mine.
"Don't run," he whispered.
"Wasn't gonna."
He smiled, his lips brushing against mine. "Liar."
When he leaned back and opened his eyes, I was floored. Our eyes remained locked together, the rest of the world becoming a mere blur as we stared at each other and I became faintly aware of my heart galloping a frantic rhythm against my chest as his eyes bore into me, opening me up and taking in every inch of me.
I've never had someone look at me like that and I couldn't explain it, that look in his eyes. It made me feel naked, truly and unabashedly naked.
His hand cupped my cheek, his touch gentle. "You are so fucking beautiful, Angel Lastor," he uttered so fiercely that I almost believed him. Almost.
I pursed my lips, dropping my head. Beautiful was anything and everything but me. There was no beauty in me. He only says that because that's what I let him see. The pretty face to cover up the horrible cracks.
"Why don't you believe me, Angel?" he asked dejectedly.
I smiled, lifting my head and meeting his eyes. I took his hand off my cheek, placing it over my chest where my heart laid underneath, every beat of it seemingly made for him.
"There's no beauty in something so broken."