𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 | SPINOFF

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

AVERY
RAVEN

I stepped into the room, my breath catching in my throat at the scene before me. My father and his wife sat together on the velvet sofa, their picture-perfect smiles and polished appearances making me sick to my stomach. My heart sank further as I realized how serene they looked, as if the world was flawless and their lives untouched by darkness. Did she even notice I was gone? Did she care? How could this woman, elegant and poised, embrace the monster that was my father, kiss him as though he were worthy of love?

But then, Stella's words echoed in my mind. You're your father's daughter. His monster. His mirror.

I hated how true it felt. I hated how I couldn't shake the reflection I saw in him every time I looked in the mirror. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be anything else. Maybe this was my fate—to inherit the cruelty that dripped from his every action, the chaos he wove into every moment of my life.

I wasn't supposed to be here. Marcella's parents would be furious if they knew where I'd gone, and Damon was probably already on his way to check if I was dead. He always came, no matter how angry he got with me, no matter how many times I pushed him away. But even that thought couldn't comfort me now.

I approached them slowly, my footsteps hesitant, my heart pounding as I braced myself for whatever venomous words or blows would come next. As I reached the edge of the room, I froze, my movements faltering as a small pack of cigarettes tumbled from the pocket of my hoodie and landed right on my father's leg.

The world seemed to stop. His sharp gaze snapped to me, cold and calculating, and his lips twisted into a smirk that sent a shiver down my spine. He leaned back against the sofa, his wife nestled beside him, her expression disinterested but quietly amused.

"Finally," he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. "You're not pretending to be one of those school 'classy' whores. You're finally acting like a real Raven." He grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes.

No.

No, I wasn't like him. I wasn't like them. I wasn't a druggie, I wasn't classy, I wasn't perfect, and I wasn't strong. I was Avery. Just Avery. A shattered, broken version of myself that no one wanted.

"I stopped smoking," I said quietly, more to myself than to him, the words trembling on my lips. "I only did it in front of Jaxon to make them hate me. To make all of them hate me." My voice cracked, barely audible. Didn't they understand? If I could be someone else, I would've. If I could be anyone else, I would've chosen that in a heartbeat.

My friends gave me hell sometimes more than my father. Besides Damon. Liliana would never defend me in-front of Stella, Marcella was a great friend—but she was too good for me. The boys... they all liked Stella.

Damon was my only true friend. He was my brother. Damon was family. Damon was my friend. He was the only one who made me feel cared for, the one who didn't need to try.

I cleared my throat, willing my voice to be steady. "Can I stay here?" I whispered, reaching down to snatch the cigarette pack from where it had fallen. My hands trembled as I clutched it tightly, holding it against my chest like some twisted shield. I felt so small, so insignificant under their gaze.

My father's grin widened, the monster in him fully visible now. "Tired of the Crist family's polished, elegant life?" he asked, his tone mocking. "I knew there was a piece of me in there somewhere."

He was wrong. I didn't want this life. I didn't come here because I wanted to belong in his twisted world. I came here because I couldn't face them—couldn't face my friends. I hated them. I hated myself. I hated how the weight of it all crushed me more every day.

The last time I'd seen him was the night he'd beaten me into a coma. I'd spent months recovering, waiting for an apology that never came. And now, standing before him, all I wanted was to disappear.

"Can I stay or not?" I asked again, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands shook harder now, the tremor spreading through my entire body.

His wife laughed, a cruel, hollow sound that grated on my nerves. "With that attitude," she sneered, "you'll be kicked out in no time." She leaned against my father, her sharp gaze cutting into me. "Go to your room and don't disturb us. Or maybe you'd prefer another coma?"

I didn't respond. I couldn't. Her words echoed in my ears, cruel and dismissive, as I turned and walked toward the stairs. My legs felt like they might give out with every step, but I forced myself to move, to escape their suffocating presence.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I paused for a moment, glancing back at the room below. My father was laughing now, his wife perched on his arm like an ornament, their perfect little scene undisturbed by my presence. I was invisible to them—a nuisance they barely tolerated.

I thought of my friends, of the hell I'd just left behind. Was it better? Worse? It didn't matter. Both worlds were prisons in their own right, and I was trapped in between.

I pushed open the door to the room I'd used as a child. The air inside was cold, the furniture untouched and sterile, like a museum exhibit of a life that no longer existed. I dropped onto the bed, my body weak and trembling. My chest ached, but I forced the tears back. Crying didn't fix anything. It never did.

In this fucked-up world, the only person I had left was Damon. My brother in chaos. My companion in the wreckage of our lives. He was as broken as I was, and somehow, that made it okay. We didn't need anyone else, didn't need to fit into the worlds we were born into. We were our own people. Messed up, sure. But we were messed up together. And for now, that would have to be enough.