Emilia (Part 1)(35)
My father moved so fast I didn’t see it coming. His hand sprang into action, hissing through the air and landing open-palmed against my cheek. Flames spread out from the point of contact, quickly replaced by a throbbing, stinging sensation.
Flabbergasted, I stood in the middle of the room like a moron with my hand cupping the side of my face. A slow burn bubbled in the pit of my stomach that felt a lot like hate, and I zeroed in on that rather than the disillusionment and tears lurking right beneath it. Hate would fuel me. Disillusionment would make me weak.
“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, will never understand,” my dad growled, his eyes snapping and a cavernous rivet forming between his brows.
The harsh tone of his voice cut through my shock with surgical precision, and all I could think was that I needed to get away from him as fast as possible. My limbs wobbly and my stomach knotting, I staggered out of his office, lumbering up the stairs, blindly seeking the safety of my bedroom. With each step away from the study, my rage built until I was practically foaming at the mouth. When I reached my room, I kicked the door closed, cursing my father for forbidding me from having a lock.
Like a wild animal I whipped my forearm across the top of my dresser. Picture frames, my jewelry box, and hundreds of tiny trinkets spiraled across the surface, colliding with the adjacent wall.
Thud. Crash. Shatter.
The commotion did nothing to improve my mood or rid me of my indignation, so I continued my tirade of destruction. I flung open my drawers one after another, tearing neatly folded clothes from their place, slinging the scraps of fabric across the room. I screamed. I cursed. I cried.
When I emptied my dresser, I stood there glaring at the explosion of mostly black covering the floor, my chest heaving like I’d run for miles. I listened for my father’s footsteps, his voice, his anything. Instead, tomblike silence greeted me. My muscles spent and my brain mentally exhausted from expelled rage, I shuffled across the floor to my bed, begging for sleep to take me away from my crappy life for a little while.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Footsteps echoed in the deathly quiet of my room, and I didn’t bother rolling over to see who it was. I didn’t care. I couldn’t, not when my whole world was coming apart at the seams. The chances of successfully escaping my current life had decreased exponentially. I didn’t trust myself to make good on my promise to get away from my dad and the Trassatos regardless of the cost.
“Em, are you awake?”
Oh, God, it was Sal. Still mortified by what he witnessed, I couldn’t face him. I squeezed my eyes tighter, willing him to leave me alone, to give me more time to put myself back together.
Either Sal didn’t get my message or he chose to ignore it. The bed dipped under his weight, his hip brushing against my knees. He swept my hair away from my face and I mentally cursed the goose bumps popping out on my arms.
“Go away. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Ever.”
“Come on. It’s been almost two weeks. You’ve showered maybe once, and you’ve hardly eaten. You’re too tiny already. If you aren’t careful, you’ll waste away into nothing.”
“Who cares?” I mumbled.
“I care. I can’t stand to see you like this. It’s killing me. Christmas Eve is in two days. We have a lot to do.”
“Oh, joy. I finally get to meet the man who I’m going to marry. No wait, I mean my new prison warden.”
“Hey, a lot of things could happen between now and then. Don’t give up.”
“Don’t give up?” I snarled, flopping onto my back. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one whose life is in shambles. Don’t you get it? My dad has stolen everything from me. My mom, my choice of a husband, and now the last piece of my life that made me me—piano.”
“So you’re going to throw in the towel and let him do this without a fight?”
“I don’t see how I have much choice in the matter.”
“That’s not true. The Emilia I know wouldn’t let this happen. You’ve danced around the fact more than once that you had something up your sleeve. Why don’t you tell me what you had in mind? Maybe I can help you.”
“I had this plan that I would…” I wimped out mid-sentence, my gaze darting to Sal. Could I trust him? While my heart said yes, my brain said no. I scooted up my headboard and pulled my knees into my chest. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
With serious eyes, he studied me for a few beats deliberating something. “I don’t think I ever told you this, but I never wanted anything to do with this life. I still don’t.”