“His eyes gave me chills. They were so cold and dead,” he adds, grabbing the keys from the guard we left them with and moving on.
We drop our badges onto the front desk and head outside where the rain continues to fall. Running to the car, Nolan quickly opens my door and I wipe the wetness from my face when I get inside.
“My name is Ravenna Duskin. I’m eighteen years old, I live in a prison, and I have my father’s eyes.”
Chapter 19
Nolan dropped me off at Gallow’s Hill with a promise to come back once he checked on his mother. I’m happy for the solitude after an hour of him asking me every few minutes if I was okay. Am I okay knowing my real father is a psychotic killer with no remorse for what he did? Am I okay knowing my parents lied to me about who my father is? Am I okay that I suddenly feel normal, like the things I feel and think make sense and have a purpose?
I’m more than okay. I’m giddy with excitement and wish I’d had more time with Tobias. He saw something in me. Something I’ve kept hidden, but that is such a huge part of who I am that I’m choking with the need to talk to someone about it, someone who could listen without judgment. Someone who could understand.
I told Nolan I was fine and just needed time to process things, but I’d already processed them the moment Tobias opened his mouth, and I heard his voice. Now I have a reason for never feeling like I fit in with my average, boring family, other than the clothes, the hair, and the constant perfection. I have Tobias Duskin’s blood flowing through my veins, and it all makes sense now.
Kicking aside one of the empty bottles of whiskey that still litter the floor outside my father’s office, I walk into the spare bedroom, stopping at the edge of the bed. Lying in the middle, folded in half is a single piece of paper I don’t remember being there earlier.
Snatching up he paper, I flop down on the bed and unfold it above me, resting my head on a pillow. The handwriting is immediately recognizable, and I realize it’s one of the ripped-out pages from my journal.
I rush to read the words, once again feeling like I’m seeing them for the first time, having no memory of thinking them or writing them down.
It’s been two weeks of this nonsense, and I’ve had enough. Not only was my life flipped upside down when finding out my parents had lied to me all these years, now I have to face the product of their dishonesty everywhere I turn. I don’t understand the constant questions about my daily life, my family, and the prison. So many questions that I feel as if I’m going insane, reliving everything from the last eighteen years.
Why is all of this information so important? Is it jealousy because I had a normal, happy childhood? I want to feel sympathy that I obviously had such a better life, but it’s so hard to do this. It’s not my fault I had it better. It’s not my fault this house is filled with photos of happy times and happy memories. My parents won’t stop hovering, and it’s driving me insane. I know they feel bad for lying, but I can’t forgive them. I’m so angry that everything in those happy photos and wonderful memories has been tainted by a secret they kept hidden.
They want me to be polite and accommodating, just as they raised me to be. Show that I’m the bigger person and make the best of this situation. It’s the only reason I’ve agreed to go exploring in the basement when my parents leave for dinner. I hate going down there, but I’ll do it if it finally stops all the questions. I’ll go down into the basement and fight through my fears. I refuse to be called a chicken or accused of being afraid to take chances. Just because I wear nice dresses, keep my hair perfectly neat, and behave like a proper young lady should, doesn’t mean I’m scared to be adventurous. I will go down into the basement, not because I was teased into it, but because I’m tired of always being labeled as the good girl. I’m going to prove I can be bad too.