Page 32 of A Taste like Sin

“I just need a minute,” I tell Damien before slipping free of my seat belt and escaping the car

altogether.

The front door opens when I turn the handle, but I’m not ready for the scent that hits me like a punch:

Daddy’s cologne.

His aftershave.

His old, comforting identity before lies revealed him as a stranger.

Tears flood my eyes and escape down my cheeks. I can’t stop them, so I move instead, navigating the

front hall until I reach his office.

Someone’s been in here recently—or perhaps no one’s touched it since my father last entered. God,

his scent floods every ounce of space. I imagine him sitting at the desk, rummaging through his

documents, plotting his triumphant return to politics. So concerned with appearances.

He couldn’t even tell me that he’d blown off our meeting due to his health. Why? Did he think I’d

accuse him of lying?

Maybe I would have.

Or maybe I’m the reason he’s in the hospital in the first damn place. Did guilt exacerbate the blood

clot? Guilt for lying to me…

Or fear? His perfect little doll might run away from his dollhouse forever. He’s been keeping tabs on

me, or so I infer from the newspaper clippings strewn all over his desk. Every single headline

features my name, dating back weeks ago.

Juliana Thorne Takes Leave of Absence Amid Father’s Scandal.

Juliana Thorne Linked Publicly with Family in Father’s Botch Judgment.

Juliana Thorne, Rescued by a Hero: An Adoption Story.

Blinking frantically, I approach his coveted trophy case, displaying all of his awards. Heyworth

Thorne, the golden citizen. Heyworth Thorne, a man who knew the identity of a monster and shielded

him for over twenty years.

Heyworth Thorne, the very worst monster of them all.

My hands shake as I wrench the cabinet open and grab the first award I can reach: one for exemplar

contributions to the city, shaped like a shooting star. Whirling on my heel, I throw it as hard as I can,

narrowly missing a framed diploma hanging on the wall. As my vision blurs, I grab another. Another.

They crash like missiles into various objects, knocking books from his shelves or careening into