Daddy pulled back slightly and wiped the tears from my face with his thumbs. “Did she make you cry?” he asked, and I nodded.
“Then you make them cry, Lay. You cut them. You make them bleed. And smile when it feels good. Don’t ever feel like who you are is wrong,” he told me. And I believed him.
He rested his chin on top of my head and started to rock me. “Now no more tears for silly, stupid girls. Let me tell you a story.”
“A story?” I perked up. Daddy had never told me a story before.
“A story about a star named Stella…”
“My sweet, sweet Layna.” His voice unfurled, spread out. Taking up all the space in my heart.
“Daddy,” I choked out. On a sob. On a sigh.
He looked so much older. Deep lines cut into his forehead. His once straight nose was now crooked and off center and I knew at some point it had been broken. His black hair was streaked with grey.
But his eyes were the same.
Bottomless.
Empty.
But when they sparkled. It was just for me.
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he rasped, lifting his hand and pressing it to the glass wall between us.
I didn’t lift my hand. I kept it tight. In a fist. Away. Far away.
“It’s been twelve years, baby girl. Twelve years,” he remarked, partially in wonder. Partially in bitter accusation.
How could he blame me for staying away? How could he expect anything else?
I opened and closed my mouth several times. Wanting to say…something.
Wanting to say…nothing.
“You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Lay. I hardly recognize you.” I flushed under his scrutiny. Embarrassed. Delighted.
He stared at me. I squirmed. Why was I here?
Why had I come?
What did I hope to accomplish?
“Why?”
My father sat up straighter and blinked in surprise. The sound of my voice startling him.
“Excuse me?” he asked, frowning. He scratched at his chin. I recognized the tell. He was uncomfortable.
Around me.
“Why?” I said a little bit louder. A little bit stronger.
Daddy cleared his throat and scratched his chin again.
“What are you asking me, Layna? Why I’m in here? Why I did what I did?” His voice was hard. Giving nothing away.
But giving me everything.
“You told me once that if it made me feel good, I should never apologize. I should never feel bad for being myself. Was that it? Were you just being yourself?” I asked him.
I had to know.
I had to know.
My father leaned in closer to the glass that separated us. He looked at me. He looked in me. He looked through me.
“What is this about, Lay? You can tell me. You could always tell me anything.” Whisper soft and full of so much love.
For me.
His little girl.
The little girl he created to be just like him.
Was it intentional? Or was it, just like so many things, a victim of circumstance? Genes and DNA wrapped up in dark hair and black eyes. A soul as wicked as his.
“I feel it, you know,” I let out. I patted my chest. “In here. I feel it all the time.”
Daddy smiled.
“That’s because you’re like me, Lay. You always have been. My little, little girl,” he said softly. Reverently.
“Tell me why,” I insisted.
I thought about Elian waiting for me out in the car. His sister Amelia. The way her death shaped the person he had become.
Broken.
Because of the man on the other side of the glass.
I should hate him.
And I did.
But there were other things mixed up with all the loathing. All the fear.
Home.
“They were my stars,” my father said, scratching at his chin again.
“What does that even mean?” I demanded, feeling myself getting irritated by his evasion.
Elian. Sweet, unconditional Elian. He loved me no matter how horrible I was. No matter what monsters lurked inside.
Now was the time I either slayed the beast.
Or embraced it.