Bartered (15 page)

Staring at the phone, I didn’t even have to think twice about asking Hugo permission to go home for a week or so to see my mother. Besides, this was
an emergency. I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to send me home with well wishes for my mother.

Home.

Greece…

Where my father awaited.

Where Damen was.

Damn, I had hoped I wouldn’t have to come across him, face him and lie or som
ething worse.

I sighed deeply
, feeling helpless.

Chapter 24

Isobel

Last night, when I told Hugo about the news of my mother falling ill, he didn’t even question if I wanted to go home. He simply made arrangements for me to fly out first thing in the morning. And for the first time, after we started our gluttonous nightly festivities last night, he didn’t demand anything from me. He simply held me close all night long, kissing the back of my neck whenever he could. Without words, he found a way to comfort me because he knew that I was worried. It might’ve meant nothing to him, but to me, it meant so much.

The moment I arrived in Athens
, I took a cab and headed straight to see my mother. Our home was huge, sitting atop a hill, but that was basically all it was, all for show. Behind it all, debts piled up, and my father’s uncontrollable spending and gambling habits had buried us so deep into debt that I doubted we’d all be able to pay it off even if I made a decent size income after I graduated from university.

There was no mistaking the scent of Athens
. I knew I was on Greek soil the moment I stepped out of the terminal. It was the smell of home, yet I fully couldn’t call it
home
when most of my memories here were rotten ones. Apart from that, however, I loved the city—the country itself.

Even though I was only half Greek, there was something in our blood that made us proud—it was a part of us, imbedded in our hearts, centered in the very core of our souls—to
share a part of something so significant that helped shape the civilization of today. Not only that, but our cities were rich with culture and destinations where the past met the present, magnificent beaches and islands, full of wonder and intrigue. Once a person met Greece—the real Greece—it never left their hearts.

Even with all this love I had for everything Greek, it never changed the fact that co
ming back still brought tremors to my body—that familiar feeling I got knowing quite well that, whatever happened to my mother, I was almost a hundred percent sure my father had some part in it. He always did. It was his way of “reminding” us of who was in charge, who we should fear, and who we should never fail to follow. He was a tyrant through and through. His damning views in life and beliefs was troubling, and yet no one—not fucking one of his family—ever dared question or put him in place. They watched in silence as their beloved son terrorized his family, beating my mother whenever his mood struck him.

My depressing train of thought had to take a backseat when the cab driver stopped right outside the house, giving me cold dread as I paid him before getting out of the car. From afar
, the house looked great, but if you paid attention to close detail, it was apparent that the paint was chipped and cracked, the lawn in the garden was overgrown and in dire need of trimming, the once gorgeous rows of beautiful rose bushes were chaotic and in need of clipping.

Looking away from the disheartening surroundings, I pulled out my house keys from my purse before stepping inside the home. I wasn’t sure what I had expected to see when I came home
, but I certainly wasn’t expecting complete, eerie silence. Mother was sick, wasn’t she? And knowing how my father weaved his evil spell, he’d never want to spend a dime on my mother by taking her to the hospital to have her checked over by a doctor.

I
’d once asked him why he was so cruel, and he had merely shrugged and given me a look I won’t ever forget. “There’s no need to waste money when your mother isn’t dying. She’ll sleep it off. She’ll be good as new tomorrow.”

His selfishness knew no bounds.

It was right after he said those words when I fully understood that he was a monster. Before then, there was a part of me which hoped that he’d change. When I was young, gullible, and the optimism ran rampant, I thought that my father would eventually be enlightened, and he’d change to become a better man—a better husband to my mother, and a supportive father to Yannis and I. However, after he’d uttered those lines, there was surely no hope for him. What kind of man would say something like that about his sick wife?

On top of that, it was his fault my mother was sick
, because she’d found out that he had been having an affair, and then my mother had refused to eat anything for days on end. She had been heartbroken, while my father mocked it as if it was a nuisance.

The memories flooded in the moment the stale
, stagnant air of the house hit my nostrils. The fading décor and the surroundings that had seen better days made me feel like I had gone into a time capsule and was young again, feeling helpless each time mother had fallen ill.

Automatically
, I headed straight to my mother’s bedroom. And just as I had predicted, she was there, seeming like she was sleeping with her faded, knitted, blue blanket held close to her stomach. The picture of her in this position was eerily familiar. The last time this had happened, my father had aimed at her stomach, punishing her for a useless uterus, as he’d so vehemently accused her. He was a heel, the worst kind of man, and we were just unfortunate to be his family.

“Mum?” I whispered shakily as I slowly crept deeper into the dark bedroom. My small steps made the floorboards creek as I moved closer to her.
“Mum?”
I asked again. This time, I saw her blink her eyes wide open before searching for the source the voice had come from. Then, when our eyes met, the usual, tender mixed with immense sadness that reminded me of a miserable, lost puppy, greeted me once more. “What happened this time, Mum?”

My heart broke for her—
for us
. This was a hopeless case and wouldn’t ever stop until she walked away. Her undying love for my father made her stay, even though there was nothing left in their marriage besides their marriage certificate. Other than that, they were practically mere strangers. Him living in his own fantasy while my mother pined for him to come home. A decade and a half of never-ending repetition.

W
hen would it end? When she was dead? Was that what she was waiting for? This very thought made me feel volatile, frustrated that my own flesh and blood—my own mother—couldn’t stand her ground and grow a backbone for once.

She gave me a weak smile before I reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze, letting her know that
I was there for her.

“Mum…please…” I sobbed, needing her to see and understand that there was still a way out—that it was never too late to start over again and live the life she had once longed for. “You have to leave him and go back to England
. He’s never going to stop hurting you—he’s that cruel.”

Her eyes moistened, agony etched on her face
, before she brought my hand that held hers towards her chest, where her heart rested. She placed my palm over it, making me aware that she was still alive, before she looked away just as her tears started to slide down the side of her face.

The
gesture was her way of telling me that she was okay, that she was in love with my father and would never leave him. It was discouraging. The pattern hadn’t really changed over the years. She needed to see that—
know
that there was no hope for him.

“He’s a monster
, Mum. Don’t you see that?” I begged as my tears streamed from my face. “He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love any of us. He’s selfish and only cares for himself.
You know this!
Why can’t you just accept it and stop forgiving him for all the atrocious things he’s done to you?”

Again, she merely gave me a look that told me she would never do that.

My father had done this to her, made her lose her voice—her ability to freely speak her mind without fearing anything bad would happen to her. When things had started to spiral out of control, her voice had gone the opposite way, hiding from the world, as if preventing herself from speaking the truth would hide what my father was. Or maybe it was because she was living in her own heart brokenness to the point that she couldn’t comprehend speaking in fear that she’d be ashamed. This notion had been brought up by my very own grandmother, accompanied with a pitying look that stated she saw my mother as a weak, pathetic fool.

When I realized that my attempts in trying to convince her to leave the country were futile, I tried to see her injury—the bruises she was hiding from me inside the blanket
—but she was adamant in pushing me away. Even my attempts in feeding her soup didn’t go anywhere; therefore, I decided to leave her be for a while and come back to check on her later.

Maybe
, when I tried again after she’d rested, she might change her mind and hear me out this time.

My mother skipped her lunch
, but when dinner came, she took a few spoonfuls of soup. She declined any offers I had for companionship and wanted to be left alone, so I granted her wishes.

By ten that night, my mind swirled with all kinds of things. I had been arguing with myself
over whether I should call Hugo and tell him I had safely landed and was okay. I wasn’t sure if he’d care because he hadn’t tried to contact me, either. Assuming and reassuring myself that he was busy and need not to be interrupted, I simply convinced myself that he was probably relieved not to have me around. Sure, we had been having fun for the past weeks, but I was certain he missed his old lifestyle. I mean, come on, the man hadn’t had the real hot sex he’d gluttonously had over the years. So without me in sight, I was almost positive that he’d had Sherry or Chantel flown in for a hot, sweaty reunion.

Thinking about them with Hugo…
Well, it made me feel a little angry. Only a little. I knew he wasn’t mine, nor were we in love or anything, but still, we had been intimate in the every possible aspect without going all the way in a physical sense. He was great—funny when need be and sinfully sexy as hell—but that’s all there was. There was no depth to our circumstance. Well, that was my opinion, anyway.

Sighing, I gripped my phone before deciding to insert it in my back jean pocket
as I heard the faint sound of the doorbell chime.

Was it father? He usually left his keys
, especially when he was drunk. Bloody hell, the last thing I needed to end the night was a fight with my father. Couldn’t he have at least stayed back for another week or something? Or maybe never come back home again? He was a useless husband, so what point did he have in coming back here, anyway?

My defenses were up. My guards were alert. I was ready to fight him even if he’d end up choking me to death. He needed to see that this wasn’t right—what he was doing to my mother was an act done by a monster.

Fuming before yanking the door wide open, I opened my mouth to say something that would set my father off in a rage when I stopped myself short, shocked.

“Damen?”
I stared at him, aghast and at the same time my heart ceasing to work for a moment at seeing him again after such a long absence. “What are you doing here?”

“When I heard you were back for a visit, I knew I had to see you.” He made a sexy
, shy smile, eyes glued to me, awe and love visible in them. “You look beautiful, Isobel.”

Damn…
no. Don’t go there
, I silently begged with my eyes before looking away because my heart started to hurt.

“Damen, I can’t do this right now
. My mum’s sick. My life is complicated and chaotic as it is. I hope you understand that.” My words seemed to strike him before I saw a flash of anger in his face, then it disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Why?”
He sounded truly hurt by my immediate rejection to his intentions of seeing me. “Did you expect that I would just step back because you left me a voicemail?
We’re together
—stop running away from me.”

Above all things, my heart went out to him
, but I knew I shouldn’t melt my resolve because I had signed a contract with Hugo. It was written in bold letters that I was to not be alone with ex-lovers, or any man for that matter. This was definitely crossing the line, and the last thing I needed was for Hugo to find out. It would snap his already thinning patience with me.

“I’m not
running away.
I mean… It’s just complicated.”

“What’s the difference with
not
being with me and
being
with me while you’re interning at The Riviera? I’m confused ‘cause you were supposed to come back after you visited your father, and all of a sudden, things changed,” he pressed the subject, not willing to let it go as he started to come closer, much closer than I felt comfortable with. “Am I missing something here?” he asked in an almost whispered voice, breaking my guard a little.