Hell's torturer: The Demon in Disguise

Part 12

"There is this woman I found a liking to. She is quite strange, just like me. We share a common interest in cinema," I say as I pace around the living room of my stepmother's house. "I can't say with certainty if she's the one, but so far no other person has made me feel like I was talking to someone with a soul."

Only the two of us are in the vast premise hollowed by the warm sunlight coming from the windows. I admire the sight of the stained glass behind the translucent curtains. I purchased the upper half to be painted in the style of Monet. I thought that if my stepmother had to be confined between the same 4 walls, being stuck in a wheelchair, she would at least get to have something nice to stare at. That and the dozens of replicas of Isaac Israëls paintings reminded her of her home country.

It pains me to see what was once a confident and cunning woman in a state like this, but alas her sickness got the better of her. All of the money in the world couldn't prevent her legs from being amputated at the age of 56 due to her severe case of diabetes.

"That's wonderful news, honey..." she says, I can sense a tremor in her voice and as I turn to face her, I notice the fake smile on her worried face.

"You don't look so happy, " I remark, getting closer to her to catch a better look at her expression. With each step I take, I can see her shaking nervously. "Each time I came here, you used to ask me when I was going to get married, remember?"

"That was before..."

"Before what?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Damian, I'm sorry if I did something to upset you. I wasn't the best stepmother, but I did what I could after your father's passing to keep us afloat," she weeps, biting her lips after each sentence. "You know, I always loved you like you were my own. Everything I did was for your sake."

"I believe you."

"Then why are you doing all of this?" She almost shrieks. I can see her eyes watering, but she quickly wipes them before letting any tears stream down her wrinkled face.

Her arrogance doesn't surprise me. Even at this age, she still thinks the world revolves around her. She was a strict but caring parent. Even when she locked me up in the cellar for hours on end with nothing but a pile of textbooks and some paper to take notes, I never once resented her for that. I know she did what she could with what we had and did anything in her power to raise me. If not for her, I probably wouldn't be where I am now and afford this kind of life for us. What I couldn't forgive, however, was her complete lack of understanding of why I'm doing things the way I do them.

"This is not about you Adelina, I have my own reasons. You were a great mother and I appreciate everything you did for me. I might have hated you back then for forcing me to study all the time and not letting me have any friends that might get in the way, but I know you did it because you wanted me to have a successful career. In the end, all of your efforts paid out. I went to a good college and graduated early, patented a drug, the profits of which enabled me to build my company. Now I'm living the dream," I sit next to her, moving a golden lock of hair behind her ear. She flinches from my touch, a gesture that unconsciously makes me smile. "Though I can't help but wonder, whose dream am I living?"

"You always had a love for science and chemistry, all I did was nudge you a bit for you to pursue your passion..." she argues.

"And did you know why I took a liking to chemistry in the first place?" I don't expect a response, but I'd like to see if any gears are shifting in her head. "It's because you refused to provide me with any painting supplies. I had to make my own with whatever household items I had at my disposal. When you found them, you immediately threw them away and I had to start from scratch. "