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“I’m going to be a dad, Peony. I don’t even know how to deal with that.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone what she was doing?”
“What do you mean?” He asks sharply, pulling away from me.
“If she was...taking advantage of you. You should have told someone.”
“Oh, Peony. She wasn’t taking advantage of me. I enjoyed it!” Axel laughs coldly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“But you just said you hate her?”
“I hate her for getting caught. For getting pregnant. The sex was fucking amazing. An older, more experienced woman? And one that hot? Fucking her was a fucking dream come true.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well you wouldn’t, would you, miss never been kissed, frigid bitch.”
I shouldn’t have lashed out like that but when she ran I didn’t make any move to stop her. My head is so fucked up right now, and my emotions…fuck it. When did they get involved?
And how the hell did Peony see through my carefully constructed walls?
Fucking is the only thing that keeps me sane right now. Since the night I pulled the trigger – or should I say the first night I pulled the trigger because I’ve been made to pull many since then – guilt has been eating away at me but fucking Miss May into oblivion every day has kept my demons at bay. Mostly.
I didn’t kill innocent people. Hell, I didn’t even kill good or questionable people. I was made to kill scum who absolutely don’t deserve to walk this Earth. But the problem lies there: I was made to do it. Forced, coerced and threatened. But also made in my father’s image. I’m to follow his footsteps, fill his shoes, take on his legacy, and I’m finally getting to see exactly what that entails. How he afforded me such a privileged upbringing.
Miss May was a gift for a job well done. I guess, in my father’s eyes at least, she served her purpose. I don’t understand why he would have her sent to prison though and not just taken out. I think death would be kinder, but I’m glad her death won’t be by my hands.
I’m not stupid. I always sort of knew what his legacy would entail. But in a vague, when I grow up I’ll be a badass like in the movies, kind of way. Not, forced to control and manipulate and hurt anyone my father seems necessary, as soon as I hit puberty. Sooner, really. I’ve been obeying my father since before I could walk.
I didn’t make my bed, I was born into it. But either way the outcome is the same: I have to lie in it.
