|| EVELYN DE LUCA ||

"It's so boring in here," I whined, clicking the handcuffs against the metal bars of the station cell. An event which kept recurring in my life every now and then.

Has this been the third or fourth time in a week?

"Shut up, kid," the officer snapped, glaring at me in annoyance. his patience clearly worn thin. He stared me down with a hardened glare, his jaw clenched in frustration.

"If you don't zip it right now, I'll haul you down to the station. Do you understand me, kid?"

I shrank back, eyes wide. "Where's Harry?"

He ignored me and I continued rattling the cuffs to gain his undivided attention. The officer let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. I stretched my neck as far as it would go, straining to catch a glimpse of Harry.

I don't normally play favourites, but Harry was the one who could usually get me out of this wretched jail cell quickly. He is my favourite of the lot, sometimes like now, though I'd never admit that out loud.

The other officers were so stern, barking orders and glaring at me like I was the scum of the earth. But not Harry.

He had a gentle way about him, always ready with a kind word or a sympathetic smile to every insolent one here.

Whenever he was on duty, I knew I'd be out of this hell hole in no time. Just a few sad words from me, a bat of my eyelashes, fake tears and Harry would let me off with a warning.

I don't usually go all manipulative. Only when necessary. But Harry, bless him, had a soft spot for me.

He often caught my mother on the streets, absolutely wasted. Since then he always kept an eye on me, trying to aid any necessary of mine and keep me in check.

I don't need his pity.

The ugly monster reeled its head out from my past. It was rising up like spectres in the night, threatening to undo all the progress I had made.

The clock on the wall ticked past six, its hands seeming to mock my tardiness. Dammit, I needed to get home before Mommy dearest cracked open another bottle and flew into one of her drunken rages. I prepared to weather another storm of her vitriolic words and flying fists. But I don't think I can stomach any more of her cruel punishments tonight.

I can end her measly existence but that would mean I have to roam like headless chicken in foster care. That's out of option for me.

Maybe I should just try to nap here, to escape into blissful oblivion, thinking her tempest will pass the time I'll be back at home.

Sleep always provided a refuge, no matter how fleeting.

I leaned my head back, letting my eyelids fall shut. But soon I heard footsteps approaching, shattering any hope for momentary peace.

"Harryyyyyy," I shouted Harry's name with unrestrained joy as I caught sight of his familiar face rounding the corner. After being locked away in this dreary cell for two hours, just the thought of freedom and fresh air made me giddy with excitement.

I ain't being dramatic at all!!

"You don't know how happy I am to see you right now!" I exclaimed, my words bursting with fake elation.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he replied flatly, clearly unmoved by my fake enthusiasm. With an exaggerated eye roll, he unlocked the cell door, the metallic clang music to my ears.

"Come on." With an impatient wave of his hand, Harry motioned for me to follow him to his desk. I eagerly complied, nearly skipping with anticipation. As I plopped into the seat across from him, I couldn't keep still, fidgeting endlessly with a paperweight on his desk.

But one look at Harry's sombre expression made my stomach drop.

"Something wrong?" I asked. His pitying eyes filled me with unease. I knew that look all too well - the look people gave poor, pathetic charity cases like me.

"Well," he began slowly, "last night your mother came in here with some other officers. She had a bunch of heavy drugs on her and she killed her boyfriend. Then she took off out nowhere. We found her car crashed into the river this morning with a body inside, too mangled to fully identify, but blood tests confirm it's your mother."

As the universal tragic story unfolded, a familiar numbness washed over me. The details barely registered in my mind.

Another boyfriend dead, more drugs, a car crash, a mangled body. It was the same old song and dance with her. but her being dead, seems like a punch to my gut.

He finished with a sad attempt at a smile, clearly expecting me to break down sobbing over the news of my mother's demise.

"Okay, so?" I replied dully, keeping my expression blank. She may have given birth to me, but that woman was no mother. Not after everything she had put me through.

Beneath the numbness, a cold frost welled up inside me. She was my mother, yet she had never loved me. As a child, I had yearned for her affection, hoping each new day would be different. But the love never came, no matter how hard I tried.

She only cared for her drugs, her sleazy boyfriend, and her next fix, never her own daughter. I had given up long ago.

"You okay?" Harry asked gently, studying me with concern in his eyes.

"Yup, absolutely super fucking fine," I replied breezily

My mother is dead, and I felt nothing at all. And maybe it's just how I have become after what he put me through, or what he made me.

"Well, that went very well. So?" He started, picking up the file. He feigns in a more casual tone, as if this was just another routine case for him. But I can feel his emotions. I can feel his sadness overwhelming the hidden part of me.

I try to ignore it fiercely.

But his next words dropped like a bomb.

"The social worker had called your father apparently for your-"

"Wait, what?" I interrupted, my voice rising to almost a yell. The other officers in the station turned to look at the commotion.

"Let me finish first," the officer said firmly, giving me a stern glare.

Jeez, men and their fragile ego.

But my heart was hammering, and my hands started to tremble. I feel like minutes away from anxiety breakdown.

I had begged Mom for even a scrap about my father countless times over the years, but she slammed that door shut every time. No matter what manipulations or tricks I tried, I couldn't squeeze a single detail from her clenched lips.

There are times when I feel empty and hollow in my memories, which spirals me out of reality.

If he was out there somewhere, why did he never reach out or try to know me? His daughter! His sudden appearance now was an insult after years of absence. Where had he been when I needed a father? The anger and resentment I had nursed all these years boiled up inside me.

How dare he waltz into my life now as if nothing had happened? He didn't deserve to know me after ignoring my existence for so long.

"He's on the way here. He was the one who bailed you out," he continued. I bit my tongue, anxiety and anger swirling in my gut.

Great, another man thinking he can control me with his arrogance.

His words dropped like blows. Bailed me out? This stranger who had never cared to know me was now suddenly inserting himself into my life? My foot tapped rapidly against the floor as my mind raced, spiralling into dark possibilities.

"Can't I just go to an orphanage or try to make it on my own?" I pleaded, my voice tinged with desperation. I knew I didn't have much money, but I could scrape by if I really tried. Anything was better than being at the mercy of a deadbeat dad who suddenly decided to play the role out of some misguided sense of obligation.

No, I would be better off alone. I had already survived so much worse in my short life. This was just another bump in the road, another slick patch for me to traverse.

I could feel the anxiety swelling within me, my inner monster threatening to rear its head. Clawing. But I pushed it down. I wouldn't let it control me, not this time. I am stronger now. I had to be.

"Mr. De Luca?"

As I turned, my eyes fell upon two imposing figures striding into the station. The first was a mountain of a man, his burly frame rippling with muscles even in his later years. Though his hair was streaked with grey, his sheer size and fitness and presence commanded attention.

Beside him loomed an even taller shadow - a younger reflection of myself. He shared my wild blonde locks, styled perfectly like a model on the runway.

And holy muffin, the younger one looks just like me. Same hair, same eyes, same facial structure.

Our piercing forest green eyes were identical - so icy they appeared almost luminous in the dim light. His imposing frame moved with a casual grace as he scanned the room, those familiar eyes narrowing as they settled upon me.

In that moment, I felt as though I was staring into a mirror - albeit one that reflected back a much larger version of myself.

I mean he looks so much like me- my prim and proper carbon copy though. Please, do note the sarcasm.

You mean- you look like him? My inner voice couldn't help but snark. I told it to shut up. Now was so not the time. She can be bitch afterwards.

I had too much already spinning in my head, so I decided to just pass the reins to my sassy inner voice.

"Mr. Harry?" Even their voices sounded commanding and stern.

"So, you're the father of the year, huh?" I said, narrowing my eyes at the older man.

My sardonic greeting was met with amusement from the older gentleman and a harsh glare from his younger companion, who looked ready to knock me to the floor.

Not so fan of me? huh!

"No, I am," the younger one began, the tips of his ears flushing pink as he fumbled over his words.

"What? No shit -" He didn't look older than thirty. How could he possibly be my father? I blurted out the question before I could stop myself.

"How old are you?"

"That's none of your business," he snapped, sliding his hand smoothly into his pocket in a subtle gesture of warning.

The older man shook his head in frustration at his younger one's behaviour. I probably should have been intimidated, but at that moment I was too fired up to care.

"Can we leave now?" the younger one asked Harry gruffly, his impatience palpable. He is hard to read. His emotions are painted in a perfect mask.

"Sure, just sign these papers and you're all set," Harry said, flashing an anxious smile as his eyes darted between me and the two men.

You had chance Harry, you could have adopted me. Your loss.

The man took the file and scrawled his signature across the dotted line where Harry instructed.

"Come on, kid. We'll wait in the car," the old one said, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder that I longed to shrug off.

"I'm not a kid," I growled through gritted teeth, shaking off his grasp. I fought the urge to shrink away, to not show any weakness.

He won't hurt you. He won't hurt you, I repeated it like a mantra.

The man just chuckled, clearly amused by my defiance. I already loathed him for it. The ones who are sweet sugars, give more headache afterwards.

I struggled to keep up with his long, purposeful strides as he glared daggers at everything in sight. When we emerged outside, he led me towards a sleek black luxury car.

Damn, she's sexy. I admired the car's flawless exterior.

"Nice car, Mr. De Luca," I said, running my hand along the smooth finish.

"You can call me Victor, princess," he replied, his voice low.

I raised my eyebrows playfully. "So you're my father's father, huh?" I wiggle my eyebrows playfully.

He simply nodded before ushering me into the plush leather interior.

"You can call me Grandpa, if you want," he said hesitantly like he wants me to call him that but is too afraid to say it.

"Cool," I said with a shrug, relaxing back against the buttery soft leather. The car door opened and my so-called Father of The Year climbed into the passenger seat, furiously typing away on his phone.

"The flight is set for two hours from now. Pack your important stuff for now, we'll ship the rest afterward," he spoke, not bothering to look up from his phone.

I couldn't help but laugh. He can be hilarious, wow.

"What's funny?" He raised a perfect eyebrow, finally glancing my way.

"Nothing, I don't have much stuff. It won't take long," I replied flatly.

He simply nodded and turned back to his phone. Seriously?

"Is he always this cheerful and sun-shining around?" I asked my newly found grandfather sarcastically.

"Definitely," he chuckled as an irritated growl sounded from the front seat.

"Tell your address," Foty said.

FATHER OF THE YEAR DUHH-

I directed us to the run-down house, my stomach twisting into knots. Despite the steady income from service care, Mommy dearest blew it all on drugs and alcohol. We pulled up to the crumbling exterior, the peeling paint and overgrown weeds welcoming our arrival.

"You live here?" Grandpa asked, disgust dripping from his voice.

"Yep," I answered, popping the P, trying to seem nonchalant even as embarrassment burned under my skin.

"You guys wait here, I'll be back in a few minutes," I said quickly, pulse racing as I prepared myself to visit this shithole last time.

If they were appalled by the exterior, I could only imagine their horror at the squalor within. I had to get in and out before they could see inside.

I'm not attached to it like people normally do, like my home and shit. This is like a vessel for me. It held no meaning. Only the bitter memory of my mother being her absolute worst self and my stupidity to believe I can change her.

"I'll come with you," my newly carnate Foty said firmly, moving to get out.

"No, you won't!" I half shouted, trying to cease the burst of panic as I slammed the door harder than I meant to.

Ow, sorry you sexy babe, for banging you on my father's face.

Fuck, I'm apologizing to car, something is really wrong with me. And that too with double innuendo apologies.

I hated playing the bratty princess, but I had to make my point clear. If they thought I would be an obedient little girl, they were sorely mistaken. Oh, they have no idea about what they have got themselves into.

My hands shook as I walked away, Foty's Italian swearing fading into air behind me.

I hesitated at the front door, anxiety brewing in my gut. I took a deep breath and steeled myself before stepping inside.

I don't have much stuff, just the bare essentials - my trusty knives and daggers, my lifeline, and the meagre savings from my job at the theatre cafe.

The stale living room reeks of booze and nicotine, triggering memories of that wretched woman. I can still see the bloodstains on the tattered couch where she tried to stab me.

She can't hurt me anymore, yet she tries every damn time and I let her get away with it. The wound on my side burned fiercely at the memory.

The damage was done long before her demise.

"Bitch," I mutter under my breath, kicking aside a bottle as I head upstairs.

I hastily pack some clothes, carefully concealing my blades within. My weapons are everything - my heart, my kidney beans and what not. As I open the hidden closet shelf, I gaze upon the gleaming silver pistol, a gift from my saviour whose face I never saw again after escaping that nightmare.

Despite her being the one of the nightmare.

People do change. But not me.

I wish I could erase those years, sold off by the woman who birthed me. The lingering trauma still haunts me. It's gone far from trauma. Trauma is too mundane a word for what I've gone through.

And I know he will come for me, to drag me back or destroy this future I'm trying to build. But I can't let him. I have to run far away, away from this new family I got to know about an hour ago before he gets me.

Total shit is going to blow up, that's for damn sure. Wish me luck.

"Are you done packing?" I gasp and whirl around. How the fuck did I miss his presence?

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he looks guilty.

"I thought I told you to wait in the car," I replied, raising an eyebrow, trying to intimidate him.

"We need to get going, come on," he insists, grabbing my bag and slinging it over his shoulder before pushing me out, like I'm damm animal.

In my own house. The audacity of this man-

"I'm not a fucking puppy," I snap, glaring daggers at him. Imagining a way to send him back without taking me back with him.

"Language," he warns.

"And I didn't intrude on you being one," he adds with a faint smile, eyes meeting mine.

"I called you Foty, that doesn't mean you will get a award" I rolled my eyes umpteenth time, taunting him on purpose.

He looks puzzled. "Foty?"

"Father of the year duh" I grumble under my breath and skip the stairs. He is so dumb.

Studying his sharp features, I realise he probably would have resembled me in his youth.

"You mean- you look like me" he corrects, a teasing lilt in his voice.

The fuck? Did I say that out loud?

"Whatever floats your boat," I say with a forced nonchalance, shrugging him off as I hurriedly make my way to the door, eager to escape the suffocating familiarity of this place.

My heart pounds as I rush outside, the sound of his amused chuckles following me into the car. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, anxiety brewing in my stomach at the thought of venturing into the unknown. Though part of me thrills at the prospect of a fresh start, I can't help but dread the uncertainty that lies ahead.

"Where are we flying to?"

"To New york, princess" My eyes widened and my heart raced with excitement as soon as the words leave Grandpa's lips.

As the car engine purred to life and we pulled away, I pressed my sullen face against the window, watching dreary hometown disappear behind me.

I am really doing it- I am leaving. After so many temporary homes, I was finally going somewhere new, somewhere that didn't reek of disappointment.

Maybe it'll be, soon.

They'll soon know about the monster reigning under their shelter and will kick me out. They would abandon me just like that.

Like how my own mom abandoned me.

I snuck a glance at Foty. I didn't know much about him, but something told me he is one of the good ones. The way he kept entertaining my taunt and anger tells me he knows how to deal with immature imbeciles like me.

Still, I hardened my heart. I'd been burned too many times before by people who had first seemed trustworthy and kind.

No, I couldn't let anyone in. Not this time. These people may appear harmless now, but when the storm comes - and it always does - they could hurt me more deeply than I could bear.

My mind continued to race as exhaustion seeped in. I rested my head against the window, eyelids growing heavy. Just a few more years, I told myself.

A few more years until I turn eighteen and can finally be free of this cycle. Free to make my own path.

As I surrendered to sleep, a feeling of safety wrapped itself around me like a blanket. There were sure to be more storms ahead, but for now, just for this moment, I allowed my walls to come down.

They can't hurt something which is already doomed in the pit of hell.

I'll be fine as long as I keep myself in check.