By the time I finish showering, I feel worse than before, but, thankfully, Lan is already gone.
He tried to come in and even attempted to open the door by force, but after I sent him a text to leave me alone, he did, though reluctantly, and only after he promised that he’d be back.
I change into a black dress and boots, then slip out the back door to take a walk by the side of the road. Growing up, I often did this whenever I felt suffocated and needed more space.
The edge of the lake has better aesthetics, but it’s not as well lit as the road. And since our house is the only one in the area, no cars venture out this far.
The night chill blows beneath my dress and triggers goosebumps on my arms. I should’ve brought a jacket, but oh well. Maybe cold will be good on this occasion.
My phone vibrates and I bring it out, then smile when I see the name on the screen.
Brandon: How is everything? Did Lan cause trouble?
Define trouble, because if it means stomping all over my heart, then he did that with flying colors.
Mia: I wouldn’t call it trouble. He’s been excellent with my extended family.
Brandon: Charming people is what he does best. I’m glad it went better there than the disaster that happened here.
Mia: On that part, it did.
Brandon: Does that mean it didn’t on another part?
Mia: Maybe.
Brandon: Oh no. What did he do now?
Mia: Nothing disastrous. Don’t worry. At least, not yet. It’s just that I’m not sure where we’re supposed to go from here if I love him so much and he doesn’t know how to love. How do you deal with it, Bran?
Brandon: I just love him. But as I said, I have no choice, he’s my identical twin and the one person I know the best. It’s in our DNA to love our twins, no matter what they do. Besides, he might not know how to love, but he is learning how to care, and I can assure you that he cares for you more than I’ve seen him care for anyone else—himself included. The day I picked him up from the Heathens’ mansion, he looked both monstrous and shell-shocked. He mentioned you promised to leave him so Nikolai wouldn’t break his wrist. He looked me in the eye and said, “You told me to act against my instinct and try to understand what she thinks instead of what my beast dictates. We have a problem, Bran. I think Mia is the one who doesn’t understand and could use your boring lessons. If she truly ends things between us to save my art career, I’ll cut my own wrist and send the evidence of self-mutilation to her fucking brother via post. Perhaps if I do that, she’ll finally understand which one is more important.”
I read and reread Bran’s text, not believing my eyes.
Mia: He really said that?
Brandon: Yes. I’ve only ever known Lan as an artist. Sculpting is what puts a leash on his demons, even if temporarily. So the fact that he’s willing to give that up for you is colossally important. Maybe it’s not that he doesn’t know how to love, it’s more of a case that he does it differently.
My crushed heart that was burned not too long ago resurrects from the ashes, ready to sacrifice itself at Lan’s altar or break against his harsh edges.
Everything Bran said is true.
If I look at the time I’ve spent with Lan, he’s been so adamant about caring for me and making me feel comfortable.
It’s not really about words, it’s about actions.
How the hell could I forget that he was ready to lose his wrist and his flourishing art career instead of losing me just because he didn’t say ‘I love you’?
Footsteps sound behind me and I smile to myself. Of course Lan wouldn’t leave me alone for long.
My smile freezes when I stare into the eyes of darkness I would recognize anywhere.
Any-fucking-where.
The monster from my past.
The reason why I’m forever broken is staring back at me from behind a gun.
“We meet again, Mia. I heard you’ve been saying things you shouldn’t have.”
39
MIA
Monsters take different forms in people’s imaginations.
Some see them as phantom-like figures that could be mistaken for ghosts. Others imagine them as the ghoulish beast hiding under the bed or lurking behind the closet door.
For me, a monster has always taken the form of a stern, square-faced woman with a tight auburn bun and a cruel ruler.
Over the years, she’s started to blur into images of the yellow-eyed monster who’s been creeping into every corner of my room, waiting to pounce on me.
But now that I see her face again, all memories of the wooden ruler drift back into my consciousness.
Mrs. Pratt.
She’s a short woman with a plump figure and now sagging cheeks. She’s wearing her usual black skirt and gray cardigan like a timeless figure. She was my and Maya’s nanny for years, but she quit when we were around seven years old because she wanted to take care of the family farm with her husband.
But that wasn’t the last I saw of her. No.
The person who kidnapped me? It was her. She had a male accomplice, who attacked our car, killed my bodyguard, and took me away. I suppose he was her husband, but I never saw his face in that black, dirty hole.
The only person who terrorized me to within an inch of my life was Mrs. Pratt. During the days I was there, she disciplined me with her ruler to the point I can still feel the painful blows against my flesh. While hitting me, she said she regretted not having the chance to use the ruler to ‘correct’ my behavior before. And that she knew I was asking Mom to replace her, which is why she quit before she was kicked out.
I did tell Mom that I didn’t like Mrs. Pratt, because she was so stern and no fun. I preferred someone who’d let me and Maya play instead of always focusing on our curriculum.
What was an innocent request became the reason for my childhood trauma.
People assumed my kidnapper was a man and I let them believe that, not seeing the need to correct them. All these years, my main priority was to make sure she and her dangerous husband couldn’t hurt my family.
That’s all I cared about.
That’s what I lost my voice for and why I’ve never gotten it back.
I believed that if she could kidnap me, kill our bodyguard, and nearly take Maya as well, she could do anything. Our tight security means jack shit to this woman.
Deep down, I thought maybe one day I’d get over the crippling anxiety and devastating fear I felt in the darkness of that basement.
Maybe one day I’d be able to use my voice again.
But seeing her now brings everything tumbling down.
My legs tremble and every fiber in me tells me to run.
Now.
“Don’t even think about it, child,” she says, her voice low and unpleasant.
I never liked Mrs. Pratt. Even before the kidnapping. Call it a self-preservation instinct or pure disdain for stunted people. I just never felt comfortable around her and preferred my Russian teacher at the time. Something Mrs. Pratt didn’t react to so well.
She takes a few steps toward me, her hold on the gun steady, and I nearly hyperventilate.
Stop coming closer. Stop coming…
“Now, tell me, Mia. Did you open your mouth, or—more accurately—your hands to tell that boyfriend of yours about the past?”
I gulp, sweat trickling down my back and gluing my dress to my skin. I can’t move.
I can barely breathe.
As if paralyzed, all I can do is stare at the monster from my past.
A shudder snakes through me and I can barely breathe, let alone think about escaping.
Is this the end?
Finally?
“You couldn’t have, right? It was supposed to be our secret, wasn’t it?” She stares up at me with her lifeless eyes.
I often saw Mrs. Pratt as an educated, normal woman, but it wasn’t until the kidnapping that I realized monsters aren’t only disfigured beings and can take different forms.
Monsters aren’t the work of cartoons and comic books. They’re not even the big buff men with scarred faces that Mom and Dad deal with on an everyday basis.