the turbulence I was accustomed to seeing. I wished things could be different for us, wished we had an easier start, and wished, even more, that Carly was here with us. I wished she'd survived to come out the other side, to live a life of freedom, one without fear, without the threat of pain from somebody who was supposed to love you, to protect you.
More than anything, I'd have liked to see the Nyx standing here, to know what he'd done for her in her name. Maybe it wasn't the best legacy, but to victims, it was as good as it got.
If our Algonquin heritage wasn't clear in me, it was there for everybody to see in Nyx. His hair made the obsidian of mine, look washed out. His skin gleamed like a precious metal, and those eyes of his reminded me of marble. They were loaded with a rainbow of striations, that probably were only visible to me because of the artistic slant with which I saw the world. To anybody else, they'd say he had hazel-green eyes, but to me, each color was an emotion.
Everybody thought Nyx didn't feel. They thought he was a monster, a killer, but he was all those things because he felt too much.
Just like now.
The charge of his emotions, his feelings, was like watching a storm brewing over the ocean.
A part of me thought about backing out, of holding my tongue, but the truth was, I needed closure.
Cruz, without even meaning to, had made me realize that. I needed for this not to be a secret anymore. I needed this to be out–the people who mattered to me had the right to know the truth, deserved to know what had made me the woman standing here today. Sure, some of that was bad, but most of it was my choice.
Mine.
Nobody else's, and that made it precious. Precious enough to share.
And so, I reached up and cupped his cheek, well aware, that even though we were never on the same wavelength, that we'd been out of sync for decades, somehow, he knew what I was about to say.
I read it in the devastation etched into every single one of his beautiful features.
But he didn't stop me. He didn't plead with me to hold my tongue. He let me liberate myself, as I told him, "Kevin raped me too."
Four words.
Such a small sentence. An object, a subject, a verb and an adverb. So tiny in the grand scheme of things, and yet, the weight of them was lifted off my shoulders.
The release was exquisite.
It was like my lungs were no longer constricted, it was like when a broken rib healed and you could suddenly take a deep breath again.
The relief was enough to make a laugh escape me. Only, this was no laughing matter. The weight that was taken off me, I could see, Nyx had taken it on himself, but the truth was, it wasn't his burden to shoulder.
I clapped a hand over my mouth to contain another laugh, because I knew it was borderline hysterical and it would get me nowhere. I needed to approach this calmly, because the next few minutes would determine my brother's future.
The doubt of before disappeared. I knew this was the right thing to do. He needed to know this, he needed to feel the same relief that I was feeling now, because he bore a weight that had never truly belonged to him.
But with the laughter having faded, the seriousness of the situation erasing my hysteria, I reached up, gripping him tightly with both hands as I dug my fingers into the tendons either side of his neck, my palm brushing the ‘Carly’ tattoo he had there.
Peering straight into his eyes, needing him to see my sincerity, needing him to know that every word I was about to utter was the complete and honest truth, I told him, "If there is anybody I would blame, outside of that cunt himself, it isn't you, Nyx. It has never been you."
He started to shake, and it messed with my head because I knew nothing could make him react like this, nothing other than Kevin and his sisters, and I'd done this to him.
God help me, I needed to make him see the truth.
"You weren't my father. You weren't my mother. And afterward, you were the one who made him go away. You've no idea what you did for me, no idea what you did for Carly, because she