The Truth About Unspeakable Things, Emily Myers [bookstand for reading TXT] 📗

that’s impossible,” my father says, standing. “You were supposed to be protected. You were never supposed to know about any of this!” He yells.

“Don’t act concerned for me now,” I tell him. “You knew who Beaux was, what he was capable of, and you did nothing to protect me from him. You were going to let me marry him!” I scream.

My father slams his fist on his desk so hard his scotch tips over, wetting his papers. I jump.

“I couldn’t stop him,” my father blurts.

“What?” I ask. “What do you mean you couldn’t—?”

“I knew who Beaux was, Emma. You’re right about that, but as much as I may have said otherwise, I never wanted you two together,” he reveals.

My father exhales and grabs his glass from his desk, pouring himself another glass of scotch.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he mumbles into his glass.

“What?” I ask. “You didn’t have a choice? I didn’t have a choice!” I yell.

I stand from my seat and shove my chair to the ground.

“Do you know what I went through just to make the relationship with him work? I only stayed with him for so long because I thought that’s what you and Mom wanted,” I say. “And when I finally did have the sense to leave, do you know what he did to me?” I ask.

My father refuses to look at me. I bite the inside of my jaw and pounce across the room, forcing him to face me.

“Do you know what he did to me?”

His dark eyes peer into mine. As I look up to him, I feel like a child again, helpless and scared. He was supposed to protect me. He was supposed to scare the monster away. Instead, he became one.

Tears blur my vision and I pull away from him, retreating to the opposite side of the room.

“I—I don’t know what you mean by I was supposed to be protected,” I tell him. “I don’t know what crazy deal you had worked out with Beaux. I don’t—I don’t know why you didn’t step in and make your opinion known, but Beaux . . .” I stop. “He raped me, Dad, and beat me. And I got pregnant and I . . . I made a decision that haunts me, a decision that I don’t know if I will ever overcome.”

My dad throws his glass at the floor. It splinters into a hundred pieces.

“That,” I say, pointing at the broken shards. “That’s what happened to me the second he put his hands on me.”

Tears slip down my cheeks and I quickly wipe them away. He doesn’t deserve to see them, not anymore.

“And now, every time I try to put the pieces back together again, Beaux is there, threatening me and everyone I love into silence,” I tell him. “But not anymore.”

I close the distance between us and look him in the eye. What I see is unrecognizable. The man who raised me is now a stranger.

“I’m taking back control, Dad. I have everything I need to destroy him, the brotherhood, and you,” I say. “I can’t do one without the other and I wouldn’t even tell you. I know there’s a risk in doing so, but . . . I won’t live without closure, not anymore.” I nod and take two steps back. “This is goodbye, Carrington,” I say. “You are no longer my father.”

“Emma, wait,” he says, pulling me back to him.

“No!” I yell, shrugging out of his grasp.

“Emma, you don’t know these people,” he yells. “You may think you do, but you don’t.” He exhales then. His cheeks flush. “It’s why I couldn’t stop Beaux from being with you.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

My dad drops his eyes to the glass-covered floor and . . .

“When you first introduced us to Beaux, I . . . I was shocked, but I couldn’t let you or anyone else know that. So, I . . . I played it off until I could speak to him in private,” he reveals.

My head throbs as my dad tells his story.

“I forbid Beaux from seeing you. I told him to break it off and never see you again. I didn’t want you in any way exposed to the brotherhood. But he wouldn’t listen. He said, this was payback for . . .” My dad stops then.

“For the girl,” I say.

The girl Beaux had to murder to keep my father’s secret and the heat off the brotherhood— he wanted revenge for her, for the moment that shackled him to his past forever. I was his revenge. All that talk about him not knowing how to love me and it wasn’t my fault, that was the truth, but only half the truth. He came into our relationship with ill intentions in mind, until . . . until he fell in love with me. And, by then, he couldn’t have let me go even if he wanted to. I was the only one for him, in the most messed up way possible.

My father looks away from me in shame, but he doesn’t deny it.

“Beaux assured me that this was between me and him,” my dad says then. “He said he would never expose you to the brotherhood. You were supposed to be protected from them.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I was protected from the brotherhood. But not from Beaux,” I say. “You didn’t protect me, Dad. You knew what kind of man he was and you . . . you were going to let me marry him.”

Disbelief floods my features. The more I think about it, the more shocked and angrier I become.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re planning, but they have eyes and ears everywhere, especially in New Orleans,” he says. “Because of your connection to Beaux, they’ll send him to make the problem go away,” my father tells me. “And Emma, you’re the problem.”

My father exhales and shakes his head.

“I understand that you no longer consider me your father, but Emma, you will always be my daughter,” he says, taking a step toward me.

I take two steps back.

“It’s not worth it, Emma,” my father says, shaking my head.