Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
"Yes. Yes, I am sure. Right?" she asked, grabbing my phone back out of my dead hands, shoving it toward the other women who, one after the other, confirmed Victoria's words.
"I'm gonna be sick," I declared, flying out of the container, finding a break between the stacks, dropping down on my knees near the water's edge, and heaving.
Luca's hand was at my lower back a few moments later, reaching around me to hand me a pocket square.
I wiped frantically at my face, blowing my nose, balling up the handkerchief, but feeling completely immobilized by the shock.
"Romy," he tried, tucking my hair behind my ear.
"They have to be wrong," I insisted, despair a noose tightening around my throat, cutting off my air, making my voice sound breathless.
"Sweetheart, we have to believe them. They have no reason to lie."
They didn't.
And I was an awful person for even trying to call them liars in my own head, let alone saying it out loud.
"I don't... I can't..." I told him, feeling the tears welling up and overflowing.
"Okay. It's going to be alright," he assured me, though we both knew he couldn't promise me that as he dropped down on the ground, gathered me onto his lap, held me against his chest as I soaked through his shirt.
I'd been vaguely aware of the sound of police sirens, of ambulances, but had been too wrapped up in my misery to put two and two together until I heard a voice at our sides.
"Luca, we need to talk to the both of you," the man's voice declared.
"I will talk to you. I'm not sure if she is in any shape to," Luca said, untangling from me, pulling both of us to our feet.
"Officer Greys can sit with her until she is feeling more like talking," the detective declared, waving a woman over, taking off with Luca.
I don't precisely remember the course of events, but at some point, I was pulled over toward the detectives by Luca who acted as a buffer, as well as a physical crutch because I was pretty sure gravity was suddenly demanding I get closer to the ground.
Questions were thrown at me. And I was pretty sure I mumbled some responses, but couldn't know if they were even halfway sensible.
I didn't care.
I just wanted to get out of here, away from all of this. Naively, I thought some physical distance might help me disconnect from it all.
"Can I take her home?" Luca asked, hand around my hip giving me a squeeze. "I think she's still in shock. And I filled in all the holes in her story. You have everything."
"And you'll send us the picture of the suspect," the detective, a man by the name of Lloyd said.
The suspect.
The suspect.
My baby sister was the suspect.
The same baby sister I had taught the patience song to when she proved to have very little self-control when it came to waiting her turn. The same baby sister I had taught how to tie her shoes, to cook, to drive. The same baby sister I had a giant hand in raising.
I raised her.
And she turned into a monster.
What did that say about me?
Last I heard, when it came to the old argument of nature vs. nurture, most experts agreed that the environment had the biggest impact on how people turned out.
I'd raised a woman who could lure other women into a sex trafficking ring.
I'd somehow had a hand in that.
A low, whimpering noise escaped me, making me curl into a ball on the seat of Luca's car, my eyes pressed into my knees, my arms wrapping around my legs, wishing I could curl myself tight enough to disappear entirely.
Luca parked, carried me upstairs, kicked out of his shoes, pulled mine off me, and curled me up tight in bed. Almost like he was single-handedly in charge of holding me together as I fell apart.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he requested a long while later.
"That I created a monster."
"Sweetheart, you didn't create anything."
"I did, though. I did, Luca. I raised her. Our mom was away most of the time. I raised her. I did something wrong that she turned out like this, that she'd be willing to do something like this. That is on me. Somehow, someway, I screwed up."
"Listen to me, some people are just fucked up. And some people fall in with bad crowds and it rubs off."
"And some people were made evil."
"Okay, yes," he relented, grabbing my chin, forcing it up. "But that isn't the case here."
"You can't know that."
"Yes, I can. I can know that. Because I know you. And there's nothing evil about you. Anything that went wrong with Celenia, it went wrong after you. Do you understand me? This isn't on you. Don't pick up weight that isn't yours to carry around."
"How could she do that?" I whispered, searching his face for answers.