The Contradiction of Solitude (41 page)

Just by being alive, he dictated the life of his daughter. And his son. And his wife.

“Aren’t you going to ask about Matt? About Mom?”

Did he even know that the woman he had married; the woman who had slept ignorantly beside him had died? Finding her oblivion at the bottom of a bottle of pills?

His expression was perpetually neutral. No smiles. No heartfelt sentiments. Those were reserved for me.

I thrilled at being special.

Always.

Daddy didn’t respond. He didn’t ask any questions.

Because he didn’t
care.

He bowed his head down, rubbing at his temple before looking at me again. “Tell me your stories, Lay. Just like you used to.”

Is this what I came here for?

The emotional games? The mindful manipulation?

The way he twisted me up into knots? Dangerous knots that I could never break free of?

So I could tell him my stories? And lay my soul bare for him to pick apart and take the things he liked?

The things he wanted to keep…for himself?

I swallowed thickly. My tongue felt numb in my mouth. My lips incapable of creating words. This was the same indirect conversation I had always had with him.

“I told you to stay in the car, Layna,” my father scolded. He wasn’t angry. Frustrated?

Flustered?

No. My daddy didn’t get flustered.

I looked at the girl in the chair. Her mouth gagged, her hands tied. Her feet bound.

“Who is she, Daddy?” I asked, my voice small.

“Who do you think she is, Layna?” he asked, changing in an instant. Bestowing his patient smile on his favorite child. A devoted father. A caring parent. Not a man who had a terrified girl strapped to a chair.

I felt scared.

So scared.

And then I wasn’t.

Daddy pulled out my fear and threw it away. Reminding me again why he was the best daddy in the world.

“Who do you want her to be?” Daddy asked. His grin stretching high. So high. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“I don’t have any stories,” I denied. I refused to give him what he was looking for. I should leave. I should go back to Elian. I should forget about this man and his demons once and for all.

But I couldn’t.

When it came to my father, I was always helpless.

“Please, Lay. Tell me. Yours were always better than mine.”

I snorted. Then I laughed.

It was so easy to smile with my daddy. My mouth relaxed and I handed him something real. Something I gave to no one else.

“Tell me about your stars,” he urged eagerly, his eyes—black, flashing eyes—burrowed in. Burrowed deep.

I took a deep breath. I thought about Elian.

No.

I wouldn’t give him that one.

Elian was
mine.

So I gave him another story. The first story. One that didn’t matter.

Not like Elian.

He was different.

So carefully planned.

Because of
who
he was.

But I could give him others. The ones that didn’t mean
anything
.

“There was a man named Christopher with sparkling blue eyes. He was smart. He was lonely. He saw a pretty girl with long, dark hair and loved her instantly. As they all do…” My voice carried off. Carried on. And on.

My dad chuckled and clasped his hands together. “Oh, I like this one. Tell me what happened to smart and lonely Christopher.”

I shook my head. My hair fell in front of my face, shielding me. From my father. From the person he made me become.

“I can’t tell you,” I moaned. Tired. So tired. I wanted to close my eyes. I wanted to fly away.

My father always made me feel like I was flying.

“Layna, are you in here?” My daddy poked his head into my room where I was in the corner. Mom had put me there and I was told not to move.

Not until Daddy came home to ‘deal with me.’

I had smirked when she told me that. She was so clueless.

My father would never scold me. He would never yell.

Mom had no idea.

“So what did you do this time?” he laughed, coming all the way in. He shut the door behind him. Privacy. Our talks required that.

I kicked the box full of dolls toward him.

He picked up one and held it up, grinning like crazy.

Like crazy.

“Why did you take the heads off?” he asked, bemused. Never angry. Mommy would never know.

“They look better that way.”

Daddy nodded. “They sure do.” He crooked his finger and beckoned me closer.

I slowly walked towards him. When I was standing right in front of him, he leaned down and whispered. Close to my ear.

“Sometimes people look better that way too.”

Then he was laughing.

And I was laughing.

Because Daddy was right.

Some people would look better that way.

“I wished you had come to see me sooner, Layna,” Daddy scolded. Treating me like a child.

His
child.

“I couldn’t,” I admitted.

Daddy nodded. He understood. He always understood.

“You weren’t ready.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“But you are now.”

Was I?

My father tapped his bottom lip with his finger. Thinking. Thinking. “Do you remember the house? Outside of town. Off the highway and down the gravel path just past Sparrow Lane?”

The house.

As if I could ever forget the house.

The house sat off in the distance. A tomb…waiting.

I nodded.

Down the gravel road. Dark on both sides. Waylon Jennings singing softly as we drove into the night.

“Gonna get my girl a star…” Daddy crooned and I laughed.

“Do you know?” he asked, and I stared at him.

Did I know?

I knew so many things.

“It’s yours,” he whispered, covering the end of his phone with his hand.

“What?” I frowned.

“The house. It’s yours.”

“Why?”

My father grinned and wagged his finger. “You know why. Don’t ask questions when you already have the answers. Hold onto your words until you need them, Layna.”

“It’s mine.”

Daddy grinned brighter. Wider.

“I gave it to you a long time ago.”

“Cain, your time’s up,” the guard barked.

And then I saw it. The regret. My father’s face fell and he became the soft, tender man of my childhood.

The one with whom I shared all my secrets.

Secrets that he kept.

Just as I had always kept his.

“Will you come back to see me?” he asked before hanging up.

I didn’t respond.

The guard took the phone from his hand and slammed it down.

I would never have answered him anyway.

He already
knew.

“A
re we going home?” Elian asked after I came out of the prison.

The guard had taken Daddy away. He had looked back just before the door closed and he grinned. His mouth moving over silent words.

Words I could feel
everywhere
.

I love you, Lay.

“Layna? Did you hear me?” I had been sitting in Elian’s car, staring straight ahead of me.

Not really
here
.

I was still
there.

“It’s yours.”

“What?”

“The house. It’s yours.”

He had given me the house.

The house.

Where it all began.

For me.

It was the start of it all.

“Are you ready to go back to Brecken Forest?” Elian asked.

Back.

Back.

No.

“Can we go somewhere else first?”

I could barely hear my voice. I couldn’t stomach the words falling. Falling. Falling from my lips.

Was I going to take Elian there?

To the place where our worlds would collide?

Completely.

Totally.

Finished.

Elian was touching me. Hands in my hair. Fingers digging into my neck. Pulling me. Yanking me. Wanting me closer. I didn’t want him to touch me.

Not right now.

I pushed him away. Away.

Not right now.

“What did he say to you?” Elian asked. Scared. Worried.

“He left me the house,” I whispered. Falling. Falling. From my lips.

“The house?” Elian was confused. I wasn’t looking at him. He wanted my eyes. He wanted to see for himself that I was okay.

Was I okay?

“The house,” I repeated. “Can we go there?”

There was silence. Impenetrable silence. Nothing. No sound.

“Tell me about your stars.”

And I had. I had told him about one.

One star.

One that didn’t mean anything.

I looked at Elian. At the man who
mattered.

He reached out again, and this time I let him make contact. I let him touch me. My face. My lips. Always touching.

I wouldn’t give
him
Elian.

Never Elian.

He was mine.

From that moment in the house, all those years ago.

I just didn’t know exactly what to do with him.

I had to know.

I had to know.

Elian had to know.

“Can we go? To Norton Hill?” It was asking a lot. I knew Elian wanted to go home. To Brecken Forest.

But my
home
was waiting for me.