Beneath her.
She kept a wide berth as she staggered backward and away, toward the house. I turned to watch her go, watch her run, water dripping from her as she disappeared inside.
And all I could do was sit there. All I could do was nothing.
I was a monster. I knew it. I had known it for a long time.
Take care when fighting the monsters you don’t become one.
My mom used to tell me that. Her favorite fucking quote from Nietzsche.
I fought for her too. I fought him. I always lost. I always knew I’d lose, but I did it anyway, and I took the penalties, endured the consequences.
I guess I didn’t realize when the transformation had happened. When the monster had beaten me. Had taken me over and made me like him. Like my father.
I staggered to my feet like a drunken man and went into the house, up to my room, unable to even look at her closed door. I didn’t bother to shower. I just pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, got into my car, and drove, not sure where I was even going until I pulled up to the seminary gates. I’d never been here before. It was while I was in prison that Damon had told me his plans. We hadn’t really talked much before that. Damon and I, we were as opposite as could be. I guess, though, in a way, we were both surviving.
My father was a two-bit criminal. Never organized enough or smart enough to be on top of his game. Always in debt. A thug for hire. But charming. Always charming. The man could talk, and he put on airs. Made people believe anything he wanted. That’s how my mother had fallen in love with him, I was sure. That or the fact that love truly is fucking blind.
The physical abuse didn’t start until I was twelve. I’d always been a big kid, so I guess he’d felt like I was a match. Like he could beat the living shit out of me because I’d fucking take it and survive. I wondered how long he’d been beating mom before I really saw the evidence of it. She’d shielded us from that side of him as long as she could.
Seeing Sofia’s face, her fear, her courage through it—because she was courageous, she wasn’t the coward I accused her of being—it reminded me of her. Of my mom.
And the reflection of myself in her eyes scared the ever-living shit out of me because what I saw there, it wasn’t me. It was him.
I looked at my watch. It was almost eight o’clock. Way past visiting hours, but I didn’t care.
When I found the doors locked, I scrolled through my cell phone to find Damon’s number and dialed it. It rang four times then went to voice mail. I walked around the property, trying all the doors when finally, a few minutes later, my phone rang. It was Damon.
“Raphael?”
He sounded surprised. “Yeah. It’s me.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m outside.”
“Outside?”
“Outside the seminary. Doors are fucking locked.”
“Wait there. I’ll be right down.”
We hung up, and I went back to the front door, which opened a few minutes later. Damon stood on the other side wearing his cassock. I had to look twice. It was so strange, seeing my twin brother dressed like this.
“Are you fucking sure you want to do this?” I asked. “Throw your fucking life away.”
“Lower your voice and watch your language in here.”
He let me in and locked the door. I followed him to a private room. He offered me a seat, but I paced instead. “You have something to drink?”
He nodded and took out a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet. He poured us each one. I drained my glass in one go. Although he raised his eyebrows, he re-poured for me and sat back down. I remained standing.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m like him, aren’t I?” I asked, not sure what I was doing here. Feeling weak for having come.
He studied me. “Like our father?”
I nodded once.
“Tell me in what way you’re like him. Give me one fucking thing.”
I smirked. “Are you allowed to say that? Won’t your God strike you down or some shit?”
He gave me a stern look. “One thing.”
I shook my head and swallowed more of my drink. “I scare the shit out of her.”
The look on his face changed, but he didn’t quite smile. “Well, stop.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It’s exactly that easy. What did you do?”
Fuck. “Nothing,” I mumbled without quite meeting his eyes.
He raised his eyebrows. “Is she hurt? Physically?”
“No.”
“Again, how are you like our father?”
Damon knew about the abuse. He’d seen me take it. He’d been made to watch. Our father was a wicked, manipulative, evil man.
I stopped pacing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead,” I said finally. “I only wish I’d done it sooner. Before mom—”