The rest wasn’t so easy to swallow. Carly’s eyes grew wide, but they weren’t crazed like they had been before. Fear lingered beneath the amber of her eyes. Her heart thudded lonesome in her chest. Everything spun for a second.

“No,” she murmured, “you don’t know what you’re talking about. I have parents. I have a dad. His name’s Hector.”

Tzich knew how she’d felt before—the thrum in her joints, the acid adrenaline that had pulsed in her heart and burned. But he couldn’t know this much. She wasn’t a monster—she wasn’t the legitimate spawn of Satan. Because if she was, it explained too much of her life in a haunting, gut-wrenching way.

“No,” she groaned again. This time she fell back against the railing and rested there, her hands smoothing back her thick and wild black hair from her face. She shook her head.

“I’m not. I can’t. It—“ It made perfect sense. She’d always been demanding, commanding, and always the leader. She never played nice. When crowds had been easy and manipulative, they always followed. If she wanted a one night stand, she didn’t have a problem roping people in (even if the quality wasn’t always best). 

Maybe she wanted to cry. Or, no—beat something bloody. Or both. She breathed shakily.

“I don’t want to. No thank you. Goodbye.”