Burned

Chapter 5

Alistair's POV

So that's the story of how I met Thena; it was a lie concocted by my father to line his already fat pockets. After meeting her and being enthralled by her beauty, wit - her basically - I thought it wouldn't matter. I thought I could ignore the lie and let our love bloom. After all, "love conquers all", or isn't that what they say. But the lie didn't want to be ignored. Every time I looked at her, every time I touched her, I heard it screaming inside me, taunting me, telling me it wasn't real. And the longer it went on, the harder it was to confess. Maybe if I had pulled her aside in the beginning and told the truth, she would have appreciated my honesty and it could have become a funny little story we told at parties. But I didn't tell her, and the lie grew like cancer within me. I thought stopping the wedding would solve things. By denying myself the one person I could not live without, I was making amends. In a twisted sort of way, I was doing penance - locking myself away in purgatory, shackling myself with pain I deserved. I knew it would hurt Thena, but I also knew that she was strong - that she'd get over it, that what I was doing was a necessary evil. But I didn't think it would break her. But being with her in Lewes, she looked oh so broken. And I did that. I broke her, so I must fix her, and in so far as is within my power, I must make things right. And that starts with confronting the monster I call father.

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Thena's POV

After the Lewes incident with he whom shall not be named, Seaford lost its allure. If I'm being honest, I was scared he'd show up at my doorstep and I'd dissolve into a crying mess in his arms - again. The power he has over me is infuriating and honestly concerning, because why does a man control me so? As Hades said to Meg in Hercules: "he's a man". You'd think I'd know from all the countless stories through the ages to avoid them - especially the pretty ones. But no, I had to suspend my reasoning faculties.
"Ma'am would you like a refill"? The flight attendant, Alice, says, zapping me out of my thoughts.
"No thank you, Alice. And please, for the love of God, stop calling me ma'am. You're older than me." I say, trying to inject a cheer I don't feel into my voice.

She smiles perfunctorily, and I know we'll be having this conversation again. I try not to use my father's private jet too often (wealth isn't a license to abuse the planet), but desperate times call for desperate measures, and these are absolutely catastrophic times. I know Alistair, and I know he isn't one to give up; so as long as I'm in England, he'll find me. And right now, I don't have the mental or emotional capacity to go on this merry go round with him. What's more, I can't fly commercial because yours truly, is trending on every platform for being a man beater. Hence, me on a plane ten, 35 000 feet in the air, going home. Home home.
In the two years we were dating, Alistair never once visited Nigeria with me. The thought causes a wave of discomfort to go down my spine: my culture was one part of me I never shared with him (at my parents' urging) - almost as if I was supposed to be ashamed of who I was and where I came from. If ever (and that's a big if) I'm with someone again, that won't happen. I won't diminish myself in the slightest; love all of me or none of me. But for now, my omission serves me - even if Alistair decided to hop on a plane, he wouldn't even know where to begin looking, and that's good enough for me.

Right now, I need nothing that reminds of him. I need the heat of the sun, the laughter of my people, and delicious food. I need to remind myself that life is still good. There is still joy. Though my heart tells me I will never love again.

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Alistair's POV

It's two weeks after my confrontation with Archie before I'm able to talk to my father - today was the earliest availability in his diary. Since I was a child, I've known that access to my father - even though I'm his child - was severely limited. I accepted it though; I understood that my father would never be there at open days or sport games, and I never made a fuss. Only now do I see just how twisted the whole thing is. Don't get me wrong, I've always known our relationship was atypical, but only now do I see it for what it truly was: abusive. He raised me to believe being with me - his child - was a waste of time, like I was the last thing on the list of his priorities, and needed to earn his presence. From infancy, he had my mother and nannies report my achievements to him, and if he found any particularly noteworthy, he would grace me with his presence. So as you can imagine, I worked hard at everything - because I could never tell what exactly would make him proud. Excellent grades weren't exceptional, they were expected, so they were never rewarded.