Page 32 of Was I Ever Real

I can already hear his voice echo in my head, his cadence so similar to my father’s.Don’t you think you have sullied yourself enough Penelope? Binding your soul to such an ungodly man?

If only he knew. Or maybe word has already traveled back to him. Connor is not only ungodly, he is the very incarnation of all my sins. The punishment I deserve.

But my brother’s voice isn’t the only one I hope not to hear through the phone. Just the thought of having to lie to Sunny when I’m already keeping so much hidden from her is enough to make me hate myself.

How the hell did I end up here?

Suddenly, I’m out of bed and halfway across the room before I can even form another sad and morose thought. Future me can deal with all this shit, while present me can pretend nothing is wrong.

Taking a quick peek into the hall, I half expect Connor to spring out of the shadows like something straight out of my nightmares. Satisfied that I’m all alone this early in the morning, I wander down the hallway.

This isn’t my first time in his house. But this is my first time exploring the second floor. I do know his bedroom is somewhere towards the other end and my curiosity takes a hold of me, my feet light on the hardwood floor as I try not to make a sound.

Noticing a door ajar at the very end, I take small, soft steps closer and closer until I reach the end of the hallway. Would he really leave his door open like that? It feels like a taunt. And I almostturn around to spite him and prove him wrong.Almost.

I can see his bed from the doorway. The room is obscured in darkness, his thick curtains, similar to my own but navy blue, are drawn shut. The space looks double in size compared to the guest room, even his bed looking bigger than mine. I can barely make out a body at first but then my eyes finally adjust and I see him slowly materialize in front of me. The black sheets are pulled down to his stomach, one arm sprawled above him. There’s not an inch of his body free of tattoos. His chest rises softly, up and then down. I can barely assess what I’m seeing. How almost innocent he looks, sleeping like this.

Unguarded.

I don’t think Connor understands how similar in our lies we are. He might think he’s good at hiding it. But a fake can always spot another fake and his entire personality is as perfectly constructed as mine. An act he effortlessly hides behind.

Even the few times we hooked up, we never fell asleep beside one another. He or I were gone as soon as it was over. So I’ve neverseenhim asleep. Never watched him like this.

And it’s almost more frightening than any other side of him I’ve seen before this.

Because this is real. This is Connor when no one else is looking.

Then, like watching a double exposure photograph come to life before my eyes, my vision blurs. Suddenly lightheaded, my heart skips several beats and I take a step back from the door but I can’t unsee what I think I just saw. A flash of a dead body, a knife through their heart. Blood. So much blood. It appeared overtop Connor still sleeping in bed as if this other image existed right there too and somehow shared the same time and space but existed in two different realities. A flicker like tuning the radio to the right station and then it’s gone.

Hastily, I rub my eyes. My rational brain clearly thinks I just lost the plot and what I witnessed was just a remnant of the dreams I woke up from.

But no.

This feels different. And so real that I would rather never think about it ever again.

Before Connor catches me watching him sleep, I tiptoe back into my room. I stand in the middle of it, unsure of what to make of what just happened.

What the hell did I just see?

Thinking a shower can set me right, I move listlessly to the ensuite. Eventually, under the billowing steam of the water pressure, I convince myself that it was indeed just a figment of my imagination, and let the water glide down my skin hoping it washes away everything else sticking to me.

But I can’t deny that it’s getting harder to evade what I’ve been running away from for years. I’ve been stuffing everything behind the closed doors of my mind. Now it’s bursting full and I fear I can’t even come close to them without everything escaping like bats out of hell.

What will become of me when my past threatens to unmask who I really am?

And who is that but a liar? A monster.

A wretched soul bound for eternal misery.

Chapter 23

I’minmystudy,pacing near the fireplace, glaring at the portrait of my father hanging over the mantle. Bastian and I both look like him: dark hair and features, roman noses, which isn’t surprising since our fathers were fraternal twins. They are long gone now.

Not sure why I keep that damn thing hanging in my office still. This house used to be his. I inherited the place when he died, gunned down by the Gravediggers, our rival gang. I wasn’t at the docks when the shooting took place and I will live with that regret until I most likely find the same fate as my father before me.

I don’t picture myself old. Not because I have a deathwish but more like I can’t comprehend what the fuck I’d be doing at that age. I would rather put a bullet through my own head than grow bored and then just wait for death to come. I wait for no one. Not even death.

I took over the Sin Eaters when I was only twenty-one years old. I had no fucking clue what I was doing but pretended I did. Eventually, with the help of Byzantine and Bastian, I became who I am today. Ruthless and cunning, leading one of the most feared crime organizations on the West Coast. It wasn’t easy, I’ve had plenty of close encounters with death. Bullets emblazoned with its namesake, but somehow I always manage to evade it, sending my enemies to perish in my stead.