Ilaria's POV
I like to think that people's personalities are like promises. When someone portrays themselves as a nice, loving person, then they're promising to stay that way forever. But, when it's obvious that they're mean, cruel and nasty, it's them telling you to promise to stay away. I hate when people break promises.
Sometimes, I like to think that I know someone. And, most times, I like to know that I know someone. Maybe that's why I'm sobbing and puking my guts out in the bathroom. Or, maybe it's because I just saw a man being skinned alive in my own basement. I'm not quite sure, which is weird, because it's clear which is the worse thing.
But, I hate being lied to—somehow more than when someone breaks a promise. It's a sign that someone doesn't respect you enough to say it to your face. That they think you're gullible, and idiotic and a bunch of other words that all mean the same thing: stupid.
Do my brothers seriously think that I'd never go into the basement, even if it was on accident? There are guards all over the premises of my home, but about three years ago they just weren't by the basement anymore. Maybe they trust me that much. They shouldn't.
Maybe I broke my promises too, then. The thought alone causes bile to rise in my throat again. I'm not a liar or a promise breaker, right? But, maybe I am, because I broke my promise and went into the basement.
I regret it. I regret it so much. I wish I wouldn't have let my friends pressure me to peak inside. Maybe I was stupid, because what if my brothers saw me? Does that mean I'll end up just like that man? God, I hope they didn't see me.
Someone knocks on my door, and I know who it is immediately. A knock that light could only mean it's Camden. I sob harder. I don't want to see him. I don't want to see any of them, but especially not him. Because, the worst part of it all is that Camden—my own twin—was the one using the knife.
While I can't fathom any of them doing such a thing, Camden would've been my last pick if I had to choose which one was most likely to. He was always so happy-go-lucky, so carefree, so lighthearted. It doesn't make any sense. None of it does. I can't forget the sound of them laughing while the man screamed, the sound echoing off the walls of one of the concrete cells. I can't forget the disturbing and downright evil look in their eyes. I can't forget the blood.
There was so much blood—too much blood. It was everywhere, inescapable. It was on the chains, the floor, their clothes, their hands. It stained everything crimson, and for a second I didn't think that they'll ever be able to get it off. That they'd have to go around with bloodstained hands, and leave bloody footprints wherever they walk. That was before I remembered that this was probably a regular thing for them, because there were literal torture chambers in my basement.
They told me they ran a business. They lied. Of course they lied. Why did I believe them? What do they really do?
Another knock; more bile. "Ilaria, are you okay in there?"
I can't speak, because I'm still throwing up. How am I still throwing up? By all logic, my stomach should be empty since ages ago.
"I'm coming in," he says.
No. Nonononononononono—
"Oh, Illy."
He goes to hold up my hair for me. As soon as I realize what he's doing, I start to puke again. I heave harder when I feel his touch, and harder again when a drop of water falls on my head. He must've just showered and the water must be from his hair. It's just water, but it still feels like blood. I want it off.
I'm sobbing again—or maybe still. I'm not sure if I had even stopped crying in the first place. Probably not. That's what makes the most sense, but then again, none of this does.
My brothers don't skin people alive. They just don't. It's impossible, because how could the same people would sing me to sleep and read me bedtime stories as a child, and who takes me apple picking every year and throws me big birthday parties do such a thing?
I go to throw up again, but nothing comes out. I guess my stomach is finally empty.
"Let's get your teeth brushed."
He tries to help me up, but I gag again. I want his hands off of me. I don't want to be stained red, too.
I don't think he realizes that it's him, though. It's probably for the best, but I want him to know and to be hurt just as much as I am. They hurt people, and more than that they probably kill people. I want him away from me. Far, far, away.
"It's okay," he says.
He's trying to soothe me, and it's not working because he's the source of my pain. He stands there, arm around my waist to hold me up as I brush my teeth. I know he's trying to be comforting, and to be my rock, but it's having the complete opposite effect. He's acting just as he always does—in my presence, at least—but I can't get the blood and the screams out of my head.
I can't get the fact that they laughed out of my head. The fact that they laughed, and carved, and smiled like giddy schoolboys while that poor man was screaming, and crying and begging for them to stop. To let him go and leave his family alone, too. That he'd cooperate, if they'd just stop.
I left after that; I couldn't stomach anymore, and I didn't want to anyway. Nothing that man could've done could've warranted what they did.
Once again I find myself wondering if they know that I was there, that I witnessed the whole thing. Probably not, considering I'm not chained down there too.
I want to help that man, but that means that I would be next, for sure. And, more than that, he's probably dead. It's not like I can call the cops, either. My brothers would find me anyway, or someone they work with would.
"C'mon. Let's get you into bed. Then, I'll get Eli. He'll know if we need to take you to the clinic or not."
The clinic was a private doctor's office that apparently my brothers somehow own. I once thought that they only owned it for the sake of expanding their business ventures. I know better now, though. Did they only own it so that they could have doctors around the clock, incase they needed them to conduct whatever the shady business is that they do? Or, maybe to launder money?
How did I not see the signs? I should have questioned this all so many times before. But, I didn't. Why didn't I?
By now I was underneath the covers, and I just want to sleep. That way when I wake up, I can pretend that this was all just one big nightmare and get over it. But, deep in my heart I know I can't do that. I don't know what I could do, though. Nothing, probably.
But, even if I can't help that man—which, considering he's probably long dead by now, isn't really an option—I have to get out somehow, right? But how is that even possible, when everything I do was watched? I had known that guards followed my every move ever since I was little, but I never knew why. Now that I did, I regret ever wondering the reason. I should've stayed in the dark. It would've been easier. It would've been painless.
"I'm going to go get Eli now, okay? I'll be right back, I promise."
I want to tell them to go away and to never return. But, knowing I couldn't say that, I settle for a measly "Okay."
He kisses my forehead, and walks out of the room. As soon as he does I'm crying again. Why can't they all just evaporate into thin air, never to be seen or heard from again? Life would be so much easier that way.
It feels like hours until they come back, and that's probably a good thing. I relish the time I have away from them. It feels like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. But, like that breeze, it leaves as quickly as it comes.
"Hey, sweetheart. I heard you're not feeling so good," Elijah says, sitting down next to me on my bed. Get away. I want to say. I want to scream it, actually. I want to scream in general, until they know how much they hurt me and that man, and how messed up this is—how messed up they were.
"I'm fine."
My throat burns when I tried to talk. It always does after I throw up. Elijah, being the doctor of the family, always tells me it's acid reflux. Is that true, or is it just another lie they made up?
"Bullshit. She was throwing up when I walked in," Camden said.
His voice is hard, although it's still softer than when he was talking to that man. Questioning him. Mocking him. It makes me flinch all the same. It's close enough.
Elijah gently lays a hand on my forehead, checking for a fever. I flinch again. He frowns.
"You don't feel warm… but maybe we should take you to the clinic anyway. A checkup might be a good idea."
"No!" I almost shout.
The response is quick—too quick—but I don't care. I don't want him to do a checkup. I don't want him anywhere near me. I don't want a single one of them near me, and going to the clinic is always a full family affair.
Marcello is the oldest out of all of us, and my legal guardian, so he always goes. When I was younger, he would always tell me that it was because he had to, but that he would've gone anyway. I'm eighteen now, so he can't really use that excuse anymore. It doesn't mean he's stopped going, but in this moment I wish it did.
Elijah is the doctor of the family, literally. Ever since he went into residency two years ago, he's the one to conduct every single one of Camden and I's doctor's appointments. Whether we're sick, or have a broken bone, or just need a checkup, he's always the go-to.
I used to love that. The fact that he loves us so much that he'd check on us himself. But now I don't want him to. I want him on the other side of the earth, actually. Maybe I should to throw myself off the side of the earth instead. Maybe that way my eyes will finally be bleached of the brutality that has imbedded itself into my brain.
And, even worse, is the fact that it won't just be Marcello and Elijah who'd be there. No, the other two will be there too. Levi will be there because he never wants to be left out, and because he "cares too much to let his little siblings go to the doctor's alone." In the past, it always made him seem so kind and caring, because we never would've been alone regardless. But, now I wish he didn't care at all. I wish none of them did. It would make everything so much easier and ten million times less complicated.
And, of course, Camden always goes with me because he's my twin. We always have checkups together, and when we don't, where one of us went, the other followed. Twin rules, or something.
I don't want those to be the rules anymore, though. What I want is to leave and never come back. I want to run so far that they can't even think about looking for me. But that isn't be possible. Even if they weren't probably part of some creepy criminal organization or something, then they still have plenty of money, and power and influence. They can do whatever the hell they wanted, no problem. And, if they want to find me, they would. It would only be a matter of time.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I think it's a good idea." He looks towards my twin. "Cam, will you call Marc and Levi and tell them to meet us there? We'll be downstairs in a second."
I froze before my heart starts to beat full speed. I'll be there, which meant that they'll be there—and in close proximity. I don't want that; I can't have that. So, I say the first thing that's on my mind.
"Then, I want a girl doctor," My voice is quick and wobbly, and it probably isn't doing a good enough job to convince them that I'm fine.
Elijah and Camden's faces scrunch up momentarily, and they look at each other, seemingly having a telepathic conversation while rage flickers in their eyes. It scares me. It's so similar to the looks they wore in the basement, but this one is so much more terrifying. They weren't really angry before—moreso amused—but now they seem so full of hatred, so vengeful. It looks like they want to become death incarnate. I'm not sure why until Elijah speaks next.
"Illy," he says slowly. "Did someone hurt you?"
It takes me a second to process before my eyes go as wide as quarters and I'm squeaking out a "No."
I can't tell them that someone did hurt me, but that it's not in the way they think, nor by who they could ever suspect. Because, they are the ones who hurt me by betraying my trust and by hurting some innocent man. Everything is so messed up, and I don't want it to be. I want things to go back to the way they were before I knew. Simple. Uncomplicated. Happy. But it's not that way anymore, and it's completely and utterly impossible to go back to that anymore.
They share one more look, before Elijah sighs. "Okay, that's doable. Go call them, please," he doesn't have to look at Camden for him to know that the last part's directed at him. He nods, and only leaves the room after staring me down for what feels like an eternity. He knows something's up, and it's only a matter of time before he figures out the truth.
Despite it being impossible, I know that I have to at least try to get out of here as quickly as I can.
Elijah goes to pick me up, and I try to tell him that I can walk. He isn't having it and picks me up anyway.
"You were just puking your guts out, and Cam literally had to hold you up. You're not walking."
Camden's such a drama queen. He didn't have to hold me up, he just wanted to. I don't tell him that though, because I'm already doing a horrible job trying to convince them that I'm fine and my normal self. So, I don't respond. I just sigh and nod instead. I don't want to deal with this, and now that I have to, I have no clue how to cope.
When we get to the car, luckily they put me in the backseat. Unluckily, Cam sits in back with me. He's still on the phone, though, so I don't have to worry about him talking to me at all.
He's speaking in Italian, which annoys me because I'm the only one who's not allowed to know the language. Maybe it's because that's how they talk about whatever despicable acts they commit. It wouldn't surprise me at all, and the fact that that's probably the truth feels like a knife twisting in my gut.
I feel more tears threatening to spill, and I attempt to blink them away. It doesn't work, and so suddenly I'm sobbing in the small, confined space that my brothers and I are locked into. I cry harder at the thought.
Camden looks at me in panic. He seems to be really scared for me, and that causes me to have some sort of crisis. Will he feel the same if he knows? Will any of them?
"It'll be okay, Illy." I see his hand move in the corner of my eye, and I flinch so hard that it feels like my whole body is being pulled away from him and shoved into the car door by the hulk.
The thud of my body catches Elijah's attention from the driver's seat, and I can feel his gaze, even though I'm looking down. I know he's staring at me through the rearview as best as he can while still being a semi-responsible driver, and that's making me wildly uncomfortable.
"Hold on, sweetheart, we're almost there," he says. In this moment, I want nothing more than to curl into a ball and die. I couldn't breathe, and my vision suddenly turned black. This was not how graduation night was supposed to go.