Professor Cline: Redeemed (Professor #2) (17 page)

“Even if it’s true, why would you tell me after all this time? There’s no benefit for you with me knowing. You could have left me thinking John was my father.”

I didn’t understand. A part of me figured he had an agenda, the other part thought he was just fucking with my head.
He likes to play mind games, and he’s good at them.

“You’re right,” he stated as he reached down, sliding his hand into his pants pocket to retrieve his phone. He pressed a few numbers then held it up to his ear. “Come to the parlor,” he demanded then ended the call. “There is no benefit for me Mason. This is your empire. The empire you helped build. One day, it shall be passed down to you just as it was to me.”

I ignored his declaration entirely. There was no fucking way I’d have anything to do with his empire. And then I realized the question I should have asked to begin with.

“If Marcella wasn’t my real mother, where is Amelia?” I had a feeling I already knew the answer, but I needed to ask anyway.

He let out a sigh and bowed his head slightly. “She passed away some time ago.”

I felt a sharp pain, as if I was being stabbed in the gut.

“What did you do to her?” I accused. The thought of losing someone I never had a chance to know tore at my insides.

“I didn’t do anything to her, Mason. Contrary to what you may believe, I’m not a monster. Well, let me rephrase that. I take care of what’s mine. Amelia was diagnosed with ovarian cancer right around the time you were five. It was aggressive, and we didn’t catch it in time.” He shook his head as if remembering.

I didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Donicko sighed and raised a hand in defeat. “Believe what you must, Mason, but it’s the only truth I have.”

A knock sounded at the door and I furrowed my brow. He’d made a call and demanded someone come to the room, but too many things were happening at once to even register it.

“Ah, she’s here,” he stated as he sat up a little straighter. “Come in,” he bellowed across the room.

The door opened slightly and in walked a woman wearing designer jeans and a soft, white blouse. I tried to get a look at her, but her dirty-blonde hair was loose around her face.

She walked straight to Donicko’s side and knelt down at the floor, bowing her head. I observed in disgust as he reached a hand out and petted her head like she was a fucking dog. I couldn’t stay and watch him put on a show.
Fuck him and fuck his truths.
I needed to get out of there and contain everything eating away at me inside. I was a ticking bomb ready to explode.

Standing up abruptly, I didn’t say away word; I just walked toward the door.

“Leaving so soon?” Donicko antagonized.

I stopped at the threshold and said one last piece.

“I’m done with all of this, Donicko. Do not call or text me. Do not seek me out. Pretend I don’t exist, like you’ve done all these years. I’m fucking done. Do what you want with the tapes, I don’t give a shit. But I will never stop trying to find a way to bring you down.”

I turned and walked through the door, but not fast enough. I heard his parting words, which stopped me in my tracks.

“Wouldn’t you like to say goodbye to Sophia first?”

I turned my head as if I could replay what he’d just said. I knew I must have heard him wrong, but he’d grabbed my attention.

I turned around and walked back into the room, my body freezing mid-step as I stared on in shock.

“Hello, Mason.”

The blood drained from my face. It couldn’t be.

I looked from her to Donicko, a smug smirk on his face, then back to her. I ran a hand through my hair and took a step closer.

Her hair was pulled back from her face and her blue eyes were looking back, but they were vacant.

So many feelings came rushing back: the pain, the guilt, the loneliness, the devastation of losing her. Being a complete failure.

“Sophia?” I breathed. I wasn’t sure whether to address her or question her existence.

She smiled brightly at me, and I couldn’t help the one I shared with her as I stared at her beauty. I’d never seen her fully smile. She never had a reason to. I’d always told myself that the first time I’d see her smile would be the day I got her out of the hellhole, and I’d failed.

I wouldn’t fail her again. I rushed toward her, the smile falling as I reached for her and grabbed her arm, causing her to gasp in shock. I pulled her with me and held her small frame behind me.

Donicko stood abruptly. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“She’s getting out of here, and she’s getting out of here with
me
,” I informed him sternly.

She wiggled behind me, trying to break free from my grasp, and I tightened my hold. I wasn’t leaving this fucking Hell without her.

“Let me go,” Sophia demanded as she tried to pull my fingers loose from her arm.

Donicko chuckled then sat back down in his seat as if he wasn’t worried about my attempted departure.

I turned toward Sophia and released her arm. I grabbed her shoulders and really looked at her.

“Sophia,” I breathed, as I looked her over. “I—”

“Let me go, Mason,” she stated sternly as she gripped my hands and pulled them free from her shoulder. I stared on in disbelief as she walked past me and sat back down on the couch.

Donicko laughed again. “Maybe next time, make sure the person you’re trying to save wants the saving.”

I didn’t know what to say; I just stood there, staring. The knife twisted in my gut as I watched Donicko place a hand on Sophia’s leg and she looked at him with admiration. I was dumbstruck. This couldn’t be fucking happening.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

After all this time, after everything I’d put myself through, and she’d been there all along, brain fried with Stockholm’s.

“Sophia,” I said with a plea. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before, but you don’t have to stay here. Just come with me, and I’ll get you out of here and safe. You can see your family again. He can’t do anything.” I gestured to Donicko. “You might not believe it, but I’ll protect you, I swear it.”

She looked to Donicko then back to me. “I don’t want to leave, Mason. I’m happy here.”

“You’re
happy
?” I asked, stupefied. “How could you be happy after everything he’s done? Do you not remember anything he put you through? Or how you felt when you were locked in that room in the basement? All those times I had to bring you food because you went days without being fed. Are you fucking delusional?”

I lost it. I couldn’t comprehend how she could want to stay. All those feelings I’d trapped so long before came storming out.

“He let men fuck you, Sophia,” I roared, trying to get her to come to her senses, but she just stared at me with…
fear
? She was looking at me like
I
was the bad guy.

I ran a hand down my face and tried to calm myself.

“You shouldn’t even try, son. She’s loyal to me.”

I scoffed. “She’s only loyal to you because you fucking brainwashed her. Look at her. She has a blank expression on her face. She has no more emotions left to give.”

I’d spend so many years feeling guilt, blaming myself for the way everything had turned out. I’d changed for her. I’d sold my soul for her. For what? For this? To look into her beautiful eyes and see she wasn’t even mentally there anymore?

I felt the pain in my chest at the thought of failing her once again, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t make her leave.

I bowed my head in defeat. I was mentally drained.

“You win. I don’t know why you play these games, but I can honestly say I don’t want to know. If she wants to stay,” I gestured toward Sophia, her head bowed again, “then she stays. But I will never give up on the promise I made to her. I will get her the hell out of here, one way or another.” I sighed and turned to leave, but had one last thing to say. “You think you might always be one step ahead, Donicko, but you’re not as astute as you believe.”

With one last glance at Sophia, I made my exit and walked out of Hell. I was stuck in a dream state as I got into my car and headed toward my house. So many things happened in one night, it was hard for me to process it all.

The only thing I understood at that moment was…
Sophia is alive.

Mason

I pulled the car in the drive and sat there as I collected my thoughts. I’d started the night nervous about what to expect from that meeting and ended up leaving with a multitude of emotions: rage, annoyance, guilt, emptiness, confusion. The main one was the self-loathing for even allowing myself to let Donicko get to me the way he did.

I slammed my hand on the steering wheel and took a deep breath before exiting the car and making my way into the house.

I tossed the keys on the table in the foyer and walked straight into my office, the bar in my sight. I needed to numb these feelings. It was all too much.

I grabbed the decanter of scotch, pulled the cap off, and brought the crystal to my lips, chugging as much as I could before hunching over to cough and gasp for air.

My body became flushed as the burning liquid poured down my throat and into my system. I closed my eyes and relished the pain. My throat felt like it was melting. I probably shouldn’t have chugged the bottle, but I needed the pain.

I needed the pain to
wash away
the pain.

That’s what it’s always been about. The pains of my past being replaced by the pains I caused myself.
I was the one inducing the pain, no one else, and I planned on keeping it that way.

I left my office and headed up the stairs, decanter in hand, determined to get the night’s events out of my head.

Entering the weight room, I took one last gulp of scotch before placing the decanter on the shelf that held the stereo system, then ripped the button-up shirt from my body. The buttons went flying everywhere, but I didn’t fucking care. I tossed the damaged shirt to the corner of the room and walked to stand in front of my punching bag.

I tilted my neck from side to side then clasped my fingers together and lifted my hands above my head, stretching out my muscles. I moved to a fighter stance and stared at the bag as I started doing my fighting dance.

Images of Donicko’s face entered my mind and my fist flew forward, connecting with the bag and shooting the all-too-familiar pain through my arm. I did it again, and again, and again. I hit the bag until my knuckles became raw, then I hit it some more.

Donicko’s my father?
I gritted my teeth and hit the bag harder.

Donicko kept Sophia all these years?
I hit it again, leaving bloody streaks.

She stayed with him.
I hit the bag.
She wanted to stay after everything.
I hit the bag harder.
The way she looked at him makes me sick.

I stepped away from the bag, bowed my head, and placed my hands on my hips. Logic tried to work its way into my mind, but I was too overloaded with grief and rage.

I walked over to the shelf and picked up the scotch, downing another shot, coughing as it made its way down. I was starting to feel unstable, but that wasn’t going to stop me. I knew I’d keep going until I was numb, until I couldn’t feel it any longer.

Leaving the blood-stained punching bag behind, I walked into my room and headed straight for the bathroom. I set the decanter on the counter, took off my shoes, and stripped off the rest of my clothes. I placed my hands on the edge of the counter and leaned against it.

I was still trying to process what Donicko had told me about Marcella, too. She may not have been my
real
mother, but she was still my mother. I had no idea how to feel about never seeing my real mother or if I could even believe a word that came out of his mouth. I couldn’t think of a reason why he’d make something like that up, but with Donicko, you could never tell. I’d always wondered what John meant by his words that fatal night, why he’d said she wasn’t my mother. I didn’t want to believe any of it.

Then he had to throw Sophia in my face? How I’d isolated myself? He’d spent a lot of time with John at the house, so he knew the kind of hell I’d put myself through as a kid. I’d shut myself off, only letting Luke in, but even then it was only a little bit.

Cutting was my only escape, the only thing that made sense to me. It was the one thing I could always count on, the one thing I had control over.

I pulled the drawer open, the razor calling to me. The itch that had been nagging to be mollified was tugging at my subconscious. Encouraging me to pick it up, it was my addiction, the only way to make it stop. It was my rock. The one fucking thing I had.

Control.

Drifting my eyes up, I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes belonged to the mother I never knew, and the blood running through my veins belonged to a man with a soul of pure evil.

What did that make me?

Alone. Evil.

Darkness.

I looked down at my scars, turning from side to side to get a better look. All these years, I’d cut not only to relieve myself of the guilt but as retribution for letting Sophia down. Each scar represented a time when life was too much for me. When all I wanted to do was curl up and die from all the things I’d done. From the hurt I’d caused. The pain I’d inflicted on others. The lives I’d destroyed. The only mother I’d ever known who died by my hands.

I looked at myself in the mirror and scrunched up my face. The rage that had been building over time had accumulated into a ball of fury, and there was nothing I could do to hold it back.

“You disgust me!” I roared, lifting my fist to punch the mirror with all I had.

It shattered into a million pieces, sending shards flying everywhere. I heaved with exertion as pain shot through my already torn-up fist and I gritted my teeth, holding back the groan I wanted to let out. I took a few breaths then looked around at the mess, choosing the biggest shard of glass, and picked it up.

I rotated it in my hand and thought about how easy it would be to stab myself in the neck. One little cut could end it all: the pain, the guilt, the self-loathing I’d been carrying for so long.

I lifted my hand and stared at it, willing myself to just do it.

I squeezed my eyes shut and felt the tears run down my face. It shocked me for only a moment, an emotion I hadn’t shown since I was little.

“Do it!”

I squeezed the glass in my palm, cutting the skin, but I didn’t care. I was full of scars anyway, on the inside
and
outside. What was one more?

Blackness filled my eyes and the itch took over. Without a thought, I drew my hand down swiftly and slit open the front of my thigh. A place I’d never cut before.

I groaned out in pain and dropped the shard of glass as I fell to the floor. More tears pooled in my eyes, and I couldn’t contain them as they rolled down my face.

A feeling of complete and utter emptiness filled my soul.