Page 116 of Carved Obsession

My blood boils by the time she speaks the last word. Now some of her hard limits make so much sense.

“Are they still alive?” I ask.

“The doctor and his assistant, or my mom?”

“All of them.”

“Dad chased Mom away when he found out what she was doing to me. She was brilliant at sneaking around and kept it away from him for months. She threatened me in order to keep my mouth shut. Bribed me too, promising freedom once I wascured.Dad was livid. I really thought he was going to kill her, but he punished himself most of all. To this day, I’m not sure he forgave himself. And the doctor and his assistant are dead.”

I’m pleased yet disappointed at the same time, because I would have preferred to be the one to take the assholes’ lives.

“I’m sorry, Scarlet. I’m sorry this was your childhood, that you had to live through such trauma.”

She shrugs. “I made peace with it long ago, I guess. Certain feelings resurface every now and then, but whatever they did to me, whatever my mom did, was emotional. Their experiments felt like I was outside of my body, looking down. Almost foreign. But emotionally...they stripped me bare.” She trails off, her voice distant, a soft whisper in the breeze. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m even entitled to have those feelings, since I never truly suffered. I don’t know. It’s strange, I guess.”

The fact that she’s been made to feel like she can’t be traumatized, can’t suffer as a result of what she was put through, angers me even more. I’m not good with the emotional side, but I know physical pain, and I certainly understand betrayal and madness at the hands of someone who should care for you unconditionally.

If I ever run into that goddamn woman who calls herself her mother, I will strip her of her skin while she begs for mercy. Scratch that. Iwillfind her, and I’ll enjoy watching her beg for her life.

“I’ve been thinking of dropping her last name. Glass is hers. She insisted on a double barrel since my parents were never married.” She snickers under her breath as she continues. “Bitch was fucking livid when Dad married Carmen. And so fast as well, considering that she tried for years to get him to ask her. I guess he had a feeling about her.”

That he certainly did. Not that I’m not pissed that he didn’t realize what she was doing earlier. Though, I guess I can certainly relate to that. And I don’t blame my father, either.

What I don’t quite understand is why she’s still holding on to her mother’s name. For a woman who means nothing to her, this feels strange. Is there any hope left there?

“How was your father with you?”

“Brilliant.” Her voice turns bubbly, light. “He wanted me to understand my condition. Learn to live with it safely without being isolated. He taught me anatomy in a way that made me understand what happens in the body rather than shoving ‘pain’ in my face. He was cautious, but he didn’t keep me from situations where I could get hurt. He taught me to be smart about it. My brother, Marc, joined in too. He’s fiercely protective of me. He was the one who saw the first signs of what Mom was doing, and there isn’t much he wouldn’t do to protect me.”

I can relate to that. This need to burn the world to the ground to keep her safe seems to be growing in strength inside of me.

“And they accept the murderous part of you too?”

“Yes. I think Dad believes it’s a consequence of Mom’s actions. Maybe Marc thinks so too. Once again, Dad taught me how to do it safely, after I went batshit crazy once. Or twice,” she says with a giggle. “And Marc owns a crematorium. Well, I’m sure you can figure out how that’s helpful.”

How fascinating.“Is it?”

Did I speak those words out loud?

“I mean, I know I’m lucky to have people around me who didn’t instantly throw me in jail or some insane asylum,” she continues, “but they’re not like me...and sometimes I hate that they have to put up with me.”

Frowning, I mull over her words, trying to identify the underlying emotions and figure out their logical impact.

Loneliness.

That’s it. They accept her, but they will never relate to her psyche. My heart thumps faster, louder in my chest, as the revelation sinks in. Is this why she’s been so keen on me? The need for a kindred spirit she wouldn’t feel so lonely with?

“Once again, you know so much of me, killer-boy, yet I don’t know anything of you.” Scarlet pulls me out of my creeping thoughts.

“What would you like to know?”

“It’s only fair that I learn of your childhood. I have a feeling that growing up without the ability to understand complex emotions is not all that different from growing up without feeling pain.”

I tighten my interlocked fingers, mulling over her words. “Maybe not. I can only see it from my perspective since I can’t relate to anyone else. I realized early on that I wasn’t like other people. Not just kids. All people. It didn’t take long, and my parents acted on their suspicions. The first discovery was my intelligence level. I scored remarkably high, and they hoped that was the explanation for everything.”

Scarlet rises and turns, propping herself on her elbow as she watches me, long fingers caressing my chest.

“But it wasn’t . . .” she whispers.