Page 78 of Judas (The Lito Duet #2)

Chapter thirty-eight

Judas

“ S ome things are better left unsaid, Samael.”

Naamah’s voice whispers in my ear, reminiscent of the last thing she said in the hell specially crafted for me.

Instinctively I pull away from the direction it’s echoing, body quaking through pain and unease as the urge to move causes me to test my restraints.

The binds coiled tight around my limbs, still securing me to my chair after days of abuse and torture, chafe and pinch.

Aches of festering bruises, wounds, and too-cold extremities have me ready to just…

quit. Yeah, I said it. I’m drained; emotionally, physically, mentally, in every way that counts.

What’s the most terrifying, regardless of the torture and interrogation, is how I’m doomed to experience ongoing prosecution due to the thing squirming inside of my head.

Writhing like some sort of worm, tunneling through the tissues, gnawing away at the last bits of my sanity.

I hate that the darkness, Samael, was something more tangible than mere thoughts delivered by God.

Samael, as learned from the doctrines—let’s face it, I have researched many—says he is the angel of death.

Walking a path similar to that of Lucifer himself, in some cases confused for the Devil.

Complex, destructive, tempting, a harbinger of death.

Everything that I am. And, as it may, the consort of Naamah herself.

All this time, the voice I once associated with my creator was a lie.

A farce…trickery. The grip Samael has around my soul and mind is near crushing at that.

My body, these remaining thoughts, and the tiny boy I no longer feel are all that remains of ‘Lucien.’ A fallen angel used me, corrupted my mind from teenage years up until now.

Sought me out for abolition, for the extinction of a family over personal dissonance—stuck in the middle of a feud neither Nadia nor myself were ever equipped to handle.

Samael slated Nadia because of her appearance, an innocent girl trying so hard to not crumble under the weight of a neglectful father and a mother who abandoned her so young.

He… he drove me to Darkwater. Slick scoundrel pried the pages of the Lord’s will open, stealing glimpses of our predetermined lives.

Choosing to pervert our souls and mortal bodies to destroy a daughter of Naamah, of Nadia.

I don’t care about plagues and terrors. Let them scourge the Earth however they wish, just leave my family alone.

Feeling her before hearing her, my head tilts into a normal position when Nadia takes the chair close by and places it down before me.

She doesn’t straddle it like Kace did, no.

Instead, she’s leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, fingers of both hands lacing together as she glances over me with mistrust. Her silver eyes judge me without the sparkle they used to have— I can sense the desire for answers, even if she doesn’t know how to ask them.

In a pair of dark wash jeans with rips in the knees, black long-sleeve shirt under a Zakk Wylde tee, hair pulled back the way she used to wear it in the prison, and bare feet.

She doesn’t realize how everything about her, every movement and choice, has a meaning.

And in the forty years of knowing her, she still doesn’t see the significance in anything she does.

The humility of being barefoot with me is completely lost on her, but it doesn’t escape me.

“Sister.”

“Lucien.”

Ouch.

“To what do I owe your presence? Things with Kace not all you thought they would be?”

Drawing her hand up, she waves me off—brushing the jab away as if it holds no weight.

Lacking her typical bristly energy, trading it with a flat-toned voice and a pensive look.

Quietude isn’t the conventional aura of our interactions which peaks my interest. Maybe if…

nah. She never would have looked in my direction had I approached her in any way other than violence and ire.

Programmed to lick love off of a knife's blade when we deserve to drink it from caring hands. My damage seeks and speaks to hers.

“I have questions. Doubt he will let me close enough to you to ask them before another screw loosens.”

Huffing a tiny laugh and processing what she just said, my tongue slides over chapped lips.

Seems to be the going rate, ‘question Lucien to the brink of insanity,’ which is all fine and dandy.

Figured we could, at minimum, have a conversation on a substantial topic.

Discuss things like people, siblings, adults.

My fault for expecting more. Stealing a bit of air, I give her a nod and the open floor.

If big sis wants to ask things, then I’ll indulge.

Nadia begins and all I can see is Naamah now; all Samael can feel is the aggravating vibration of her existence.

“Why did you color suns and flowers on my princess pages?”

Not what I was expecting at all. Lacking the freedom to move much, the simple subconscious muscular movements that keep me alive, freeze. Speechlessness is an understatement—she didn’t ask that. No way in hell.

Though my mouth feels drier, I ask, “Come again?”

“Jesus,” Nadia grits. The tip of her tongue poking the inside of her cheek then drawing in a deep breath to level herself.

“Don’t use—“

“I know, I know. Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Took you long enough. Slow learner.”

“Answer me, Lucien. It’s a simple question.”

“Very aware of that fact, Nadia. The answer isn’t, however.”

Placing her hands on her knees, giving them a hard rub, she now leans to the back of the chair and slouches.

Waiting impassively—reminding me too much of the people who have tried to dig into my head starting when I was just a young man.

Her arms criss-cross over her chest, covering the decoration that was stamped on the front of her tee before her lips purse to the side.

Right where I can see her teeth pulling at the too-soft tissue on the inside of her mouth.

“You were upset,” I finally answered her.

“That’s it? You drew on my pages because you thought I was upset?” Disbelief fills her tone until it’s almost overflowing the proverbial cup.

“Yes. Mother and I went into the house to find food to steal. Instead of helping her, I went to your room and saw your coloring book. Is that a crime, Officer Pierce? Shall I be tossed into seg all because I wanted you to have something that made you smile?”

A frown dominates her features now and I have no clue if it’s out of anger or sadness. Just a bit too tired to decipher which one. Lord please let her get the hell over it. That was a lifetime ago, I—okay, I know I’ve not moved on either… which reminds me.

“The better question is, why did you scribble over them?”

Nadia’s right leg begins to bounce and her fingers flex, causing her nails to dig into the cotton-covered flesh of her bicep.

Stewing in her silence, obviously holding something back that might piss me off.

Guess I’ll have to wait and see which way she’s going to go with this.

Classic Nadia—insufferable attitude with a mouth that runs until the consequences overload the payment her ass isn’t willing to make.

Or prison-hardened Naida—all observation, contemplation, and willingness to listen rather than swing fists?

“Well?” I push, prompting her again.

What’s patience to me anyway?

“Dad would have hurt you for drawing on my things. I heard him talking to someone on the phone, a man that kept asking about you and Mom. Dad said he would beat both of you if the other man wanted him to, but he needed to come get you soon. He was a bully, and I wasn’t going to let him hurt you and Mom anymore when he could do it to me instead.

When I saw the drawings the next day, I covered them up. ”

“A… are you saying that you did that to protect us? Me?” The stutter is obvious as I speak, but it’s that or be completely lost on what to say in return.

Turning away, I look everywhere but at her.

If what she’s saying is true… fuck, I’m going to hell.

She only wanted to keep us safe, that’s…

that’s why she always safeguarded Kace, because he wasn’t part of a clique.

He was picked on, targeted, and abused. And being the savage I am, I followed in Father’s footsteps after all.

Avoided the church to spite him, to never live as he did, treat people disgustingly then hide behind a righteous facade.

No, I let people see me for what I was— HIM.

Nadia unfolds her arms, her posture relaxing fractionally where she reaches to pick uneasily at invisible lint on her jeans. She isn’t looking at me, like two awkward people do when they’re first getting to know one another.

Is that what we’re doing? Learning who our broken littles are?

“Dandelion.”

“Huh?” I’m perplexed at her choice of response.

“The color you used to draw the sun shining is my favorite. Also my favorite flower. Regarded as a weed, a nuisance, but then it transforms from tiny suns into a puff of seeds people of all ages still wish upon.”

Who is this woman?

Where do we go from here? Forgiveness is likely out of the question.

I don’t have the audacity to plead for that anyway, not considering all of the things I’ve done to her and her family.

Her hatred for me is justified, as well as Kace’s, but fuck him.

Sadie, there’s no expectation there either.

She’s so much like me, there’s a possibility she may salvage me, but if she didn’t I would understand.

“Lucien?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you get out of Sortiger?”

There it is—what she was actually after. Unsurprising.