Gods & Monsters(79)

I’ll tell them how great Abel is and how he’s the most wonderful husband ever. Yes, he drives me crazy and he’s controlling but he loves me. I’m his world and he is mine.

Why can’t they make peace with it? Maybe if my dad sees him with me, he might apologize to Abel for beating him up and throwing him in jail. Maybe they won’t be best friends but they might tolerate each other.

I gather my courage again and say, “Now are you going to tell me how my parents are? How’d they look?”

A big, long sigh, and there goes my heart again. It’s pounding, with dread, with anticipation. “Evie, you don’t wanna hear this.”

“Oh my God, just tell me, okay?”

“Fine. Here it is: they are not looking for you and they’ll never look for you because they are pretending you’re dead, okay? Your mom had a wake for you. They told everyone that you’re dead to them and that they don’t support you.”

For a second, I don’t feel my heart anymore. It’s stopped beating. I don’t feel myself. I don’t even think I exist.

“Evie?” Sky sounds concerned. “Hey, you there? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, babe.”

I shake my head. It’s not her fault. It’s mine for asking. For hoping. And yet, I can’t help myself. “Was my…” I clear my throat. “Was my dad the one who said it?”

“I wasn’t there. I, uh, heard it through my mom.”

“Well, I bet it wasn’t Dad. I know he’s mad at me but he’d never say that about me. I bet it was Mom.” I nod my head, squinting at the kitchen counter.

It can’t be my dad. I know he didn’t always come to my rescue when Mom was being a bitch but he still loved me. He said that to me the night I ran away. He said he was doing it for my own good. Doesn’t matter that it was wrong what he did and I hated him.

“Evie, your dad burnt the treehouse.”

“What?”

“He found more photos of you and Abel and…” She sighs again. “Everyone in town knows this. He burnt your treehouse the day you left.” I hear some static, then her voice seems much closer. “Evie, your dad’s not your fan either. I don’t think they’re ever gonna forget what happened. Just be happy, okay? Just be happy that you’re with Abel. Just think about that. Think about your new life and how it’s perfect and —”

“I-I have to go.”

***

Ever since I talked to Sky a few hours ago, I’ve managed to make myself sort of tipsy on beer. I’m not a big alcohol drinker; I’ve only had it once, on our wedding night. Hangover was a bitch though.

I don’t care about a hangover right now. I don’t care about anything.

I’m digging out my journal and flipping through its pages like a maniac. I want to cry but the only thing holding me back is my promise to Abel. I promised him that I wouldn’t cry for that town and I won’t.

But it’s hard. So hard.

When I first came to New York, I had plans of collecting stories and pouring them out on the pages but along the way I forgot all about it. I forgot how I wanted to be a writer and write epic, legendary stories.

Instead, I became a porn star.

Isn’t that great?

And guess what? I’m not even that. People don’t know my name. They don’t gather around me, begging for autographs. Nope. I’m not even a porn star. I’m just a fucking weirdo who’s angry. So angry that I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to control myself anymore. I don’t know how to get the image of my burning treehouse out of my head.

I keep seeing the yellow-orange flames eating up my most favorite place on Earth. It must be ashes now. Gone. Dead. Mixed in the mud, the dirt that I spent my childhood running around in.

My treehouse is gone.

My dad made it for me. He painted it yellow for me because it’s my favorite color. I spent days and days in that place, dreaming about being a writer. Within its four walls, I had my first kiss, the first hug. It’s the place where my love story started, the place where I heard the big bang. It’s the place where I fell in love with my golden-haired boy, who grew into a god of a man.

Abel.

Oh God, I love him so much.

I want him here with me, inside me, making me forget, curing me. I lie on the bed clutching the pillow I bought him. I want my husband.

And then, suddenly he is. He is here with me. His arm hooks around my waist as he turns me on my back, and I let go of the fake Abel, the pillow, when faced with a real, live one.

“Abel.” I blink my eyes open; I don’t remember falling asleep.

I groan when lights pierce my foggy, sleepy eyes. But he is here. He’s back. Everything is going to be okay now.

He presses a soft kiss on my forehead and smells my hair. “Why do you smell like beer?”

“You smell like beer too.” I nuzzle my nose in his t-shirt.

“Yeah. Had a couple with the guys.”

“The guys. Aww. I love that, honey. I’m so glad you’re making friends. Yay.”

His chest shakes with laughter, and then he’s filling my vision, his silver cross pooling in the hollow of my throat. “You drunk, baby? How many have you had?”

I squint my eyes and look up at the ceiling. Then I hold my fingers up: two. Then, three, four. Then, I hold open both my hands. “Can’t remember.”