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Juliana whispers, "Don't ever think such a thing."
"Even if I didn't, I still haven't earned a damn thing. Not my trust fund. My apartment. Now my public humiliation, a reminder of just how useless I am to the family. Truly, my father's given me everything in my life. He controls me. It's just the truth."
I blink furiously, my gaze drifting from hers once more. I should've never opened my mouth today. Now, look where it's gotten me. Trudging up trauma no one wants to hear about, least of all Juliana, who's had to fight for her accomplishments. She's just being nice. Saying the right thing. She doesn't actually—
Her touch grows in strength, her nails nicking my skin as she whips me forward. "Look at me," she says—and I do. What I see, though... I feel it in my soul. Gone are those doe eyes, crushed by defiant fury, so potent it shouldn't belong to someone so gentle, except...
It's my same old Jules.
"Look at me, Hayden," she repeats, my name pleasing on her tongue. "Look at me, and answer one question. Can you do that?"
I nod, the movement an untraceable whisper, because, despite her faith in me, no words could change my circumstances, the privileged lot I've blown away. The control I lack, seized by the heartless man who passed me his genes and great fortunes, but revels in reminding me of my astronomical failures and meritless existence and lack of—
"Did Warren Kingston give you your talent?"
Every. Fucking. Ounce. Of air. Seeps from my lungs.
"W-what...?"
Despite her startlingly calm demeanor, Juliana's nails dig deeper, low at my nape, commanding my attention. "It's a yes or no question. Did your father give you your talent?"
"I-I..."
His words flood my headspace, drenched in poison.
You never change, do you...?
Don't play dumb with me, boy...
It's like you're still in school...
Scribbling little doodles, when you should be working...
No wonder you never learn anything...
"No..." I breathe out. "He didn't."
Little doodles little doodles little doodles...
My. Little. DOODLES.
I gasp audibly, choking on my own saliva. That's why! Why he never acknowledged my artistic talent—like my teachers had in my youth. Why he diminished their praises, belittled and cast aside the one single thing that set me apart, and still does. Because—
"Then he can never take it away from you."
I wrench free from her grasp, eyes blown wide, my tears long forgotten by ways of understanding. All these years, I've been so blind, conditioned to loathe myself. I should've known, should've seen through my father's deceit. And yet...
Juliana did.
"How...?" I ask, and of course, she understands my question.
"Ohhh, Hayden. Don't you know?" There's a slight humor to her tone, yet her eyes still gleam with seriousness. "Something strange happens when insecure people see someone happy in their uniqueness. They catch a glimpse of something they themselves want, but are too fearful to take their own steps toward it. So instead, every now and then, they'll knock you down a peg or two, in hopes that one day you'll be miserable, right alongside them."
Holy shit.
Stunned isn't really the right word, yet I soak in hers. Each one of them, unsure of how to conjure up a response, but I think my expression does the job just fine. Mouth ajar on a fixed gaze, I'm consumed by a profound amazement of the woman before me.
Who just called Warren Kingston insecure.
