Page 62 of Mortala
I wonder if there’s anything else she’d even recognize about him. He’s wearing a mask, but there’s so much we can get from this footage. His build, his eyes, the way he walks. I don’t want to upset her further, but I need her to watch the rest of what we have here.
“Not really, but I know I should. I’m just scared, Miles. What if…” She stops and I feel like I don’t have a choice. I pull her away from my chest and cup her face.
“Hey,” I wait until she finally meets my eyes. “It’s okay, you can tell me anything. I’m here, alright? I swear he’s not going to hurt you, I won’t fucking let him. Whatever it is that’s preventing you from telling me, just throw that shit away. Nothing willmake me look at you any differently than how I see you right now.”
She nods, and relief washes over me—it’s clear she is trying to trust me. After a deep breath, she wipes away the tears and straightens her posture. Her gaze drifts to the ceiling as she takes a moment to pull herself together. Finally, she clears her throat and meets my eyes with a serious expression, prompting me to sit a little straighter.
“Before I moved here, I killed my father.”
18.Madelyn
I never thoughtI’d be in this position. When I boarded the plane to California, I thought I was finally leaving behind the cruel life I had lived in Alabama. I thought distance would be enough. That if I put enough miles between myself and that house, I could finally breathe. But nevertheless, my past followed me here.
And as much as my life in California is the closest thing I’ve ever had to normal, I never imagined I’d be sitting here telling someone the truth. Not the watered down version or the version I’ve carefully crafted to make myself seem less fucked up, but the whole truth. Especially not to the man I think I’m falling for.
And yet, here I am.
“Before I moved here, I killed my father.”
The words leave my mouth, and there’s no taking them back. Miles doesn’t say anything, he just stares at me. I stare back, waiting for something. Anger, fear, disgust—literally anything. But nothing comes. For a moment we just sit there in complete silence. I don’t know what else to say. I’ve spent so long keeping this secret, hiding it away like if I never spoke the words out loud, they wouldn’t become real. But they are, and now he knows, so I just give him a second to process.
Miles finally looks away, breaking our connection, and I feel sick. This is it, this is where my demons finally catch up to me. He’s going to turn me in, and I’m going to rot in a cell for the crimes I’ve committed. I’ll lose everything I’ve built here, I’ll lose him, and I’ll spend the rest of my life paying for the worst moment of mine.
He runs a hand over his face before dragging both hands through his long hair. It’s grown so much since the last time I saw him. I hate how much I notice the little things about him, even now. Every night before I went to bed, I’d think about him. How much I’ve missed him, how it felt when I pulled his hair while his face was buried between my legs, fucking everything.
His tongue brushes over his bottom lip as he thinks, and I have to force myself to not imagine all the places he’s ran that tongue over my body, but it’s no use. Images of how I’ve touched myself every night to the memory of how his tongue flicked perfectly against my clit rushes to the forefront, lighting my insides on fire. The way his tongue circled and lapped up everything I had to offer him while he pumped his fingers inside me.
Fuck, I’d give anything to feel that again.
“Okay,” he finally says quietly.
I blink. “Okay?” That’s all he has?
“How?” he asks.
My brows pull together. “What?”
“How’d you do it?”
The question throws me off. I expected so much more than this. Him pulling away, being angry with me, seeing me differently. But this? I was not expecting curiosity. Do Ireallywant to tell him?
Well shit, I might as well. I’ve already gotten this far. I guess confessing all of my sins wouldn’t hurt.
“My father was abusive. My mom killed herself to escape him. She couldn’t take it anymore. After she was gone, everything got worse. The abuse carried on to me.”
Miles’ expression changes, and I hate that I can see the pain there.
“He was mostly mentally abusive. He only beat me once, but that was enough. I reported him and he never touched me again after that, but I spent years wondering if he would.”
I look down at my hands, twisting my fingers together like I always do when I’m anxious.
“When I graduated high school, I knew I couldn’t stay. I got accepted into this school, and I had a plan to disappear and start over.” I look back up at Miles. “I had no intention of killing him, I swear I didn’t. But he woke up. He chased me out of the house, through the woods that lined our home and I was afraid that?—”
I choke up, the tears freely running down my face as I relive the scariest moment of my life.
“I was afraid that if I didn’t kill him, he would kill me, too.” My voice cracks, and I force myself to look at him. “The way he killed my mom.”
Miles takes in my words, his expression unreadable as he processes everything I’ve just confessed. The silence that follows is unbearable. My heart pounds against my chest, and for a moment, I wonder if I made a mistake. Maybe I should have kept it buried. They always say some things are better left unsaid. But I’m tired of carrying this weight alone, and running from the person I had to become to survive.
