Tw; descriptions of bulimia, so tread cautiously.

ⒾⓁⓁⓊⓈⒾⓄⓃ

There were many things Beverly Hills did not know about Matthew Felix.

One, he dreamed of being as great as his brother, Innocencio, could have been.

Two, he feared being stripped of everything he owned until he was reduced to who he truly was; Matthew Felix the Third, a former bastard turned legitimate by a pure stroke of luck.

Only few knew who Matthew really was and all were dead. His brother, Incy, had died tragically in a race car accident on the serene streets of Marina Del Rey when he was seventeen and his wife, Glory, had been deliberately taken from him in an overdose of cocaine tablets. Then there was his beloved father, Matthew The Second, who'd croaked on his deathbed in Paris with his eyes resting on the Eiffel Tower in his window.

He could barely even remember what happened to his mother, the maid who thought she could have the world with one night. All he remembered was that she was terribly mistaken when his father did not send her an invite to the Felix mansion, only summoning his son and the "purple teddy bear he calls M&M". But not her, the woman who dared to threaten the Felix name.

There were many things Beverly Hills could never know about Matthew Felix.

Like how for a entire decade, his name was 'bastard,' 'other son,' and 'boy,' until he was twelve and showed he had a knack for winning Lacrosse fields and an incredible interest in business. He proved to be smarter than Incy, the youngest and only legitimate son of all five Felix children, and only cared about what girl he'd marry and what car he was going to drive the next day.

No one could ever know that Matthew lived in a condo, cut off from the rest of the family for nearly his entire school career, all because people were asking questions about the dark-haired boy who "looked nothing like his mother" and speculations were hitting the BH Courier and every business magazine in California.

No one could ever know that Matthew felt so alone he'd nearly gone mad, calling up the estate and begging to be apart of the dinners and the breakfasts and the vacations, only to be told to "get on with making something of himself and see what happens."

No one could ever know that that's exactly what he did. He didn't become a Lacrosse star and start his own business just because it was something the wealthy did in their days of effortless boredom. He did it to find a place in the family, get in where he fit in, and it was especially easier once his brother screwed up and ran his Ferrari into a pole.

No one could ever know that the only reason Matthew was graced with the Felix name was because his brother was dead and there needed to be a male heir.

Not by some divine birth right, nor even his brilliance.

No one could know the great Matthew Felix was just a spare.

Nonetheless, there were many things only his wife knew.

Like how being in the family was never what it was cracked up to be. That he still felt completely alone, alienated, desolate around the Felixs in their big house and their big cars and big names. He told himself that was how it was supposed to be. Families were supposed to be cold, but the truth always confronted him in warm nights in the foyer where everyone drank wine and laughed at each other's joke and never asked if he wanted to join.

Like how he missed his brother so much but also was glad he was gone because if Incy still lived, he would be dead.

Or how Glory was his only chance at making something real, making his own Felix household with a big house and big cars and big names. His only chance at making a cranny in Beverly Hills where he truly belonged - only to blow it because the names before he was 'Matthew' still haunted him and all he could think about was the days at a condo without any family, wondering if he truly deserved to be alone.

There was one thing his son, Damon, could never know.

The fact that when he looked at Damon in all his splendor - in all his legitimacy and claims, in all his pride of his true name - he saw Innoncenio and his father's prideful smile and suddenly the only thing he could do was beat the hell out of him so he'd never think he was in some sort of position of privilege.

He needed Damon to know there was no privilege in not being a mistake, in being a purposeful creation, of being himself.

He had to work for it.

Because it was fair.

Everything had to be fair.

On the other hand, there was one thing his daughter, Erika, could never know.

And that was the fact he couldn't dare look at her without looking at himself. Not the man he was boasted to be, the man with millions in his bank account and his own legacy and career at his fingertips. But the man who he'd always been, only adorned with a beautiful illusion.

He hated this man and Erika resembled him so much it was better when she was away.

Alas, there was one thing Matthew Felix knew but could never come to terms with.

He hated himself.

He didn't know what to do with this, however, so he usually looked at the clock above his desk and waited for it to strike ten p.m. Then he'd tell himself it was far too late to dwell on such hatred and take his work home.

Nevertheless, this night he did not take his work home.

Rather he leaned back in his black, cushioned armchair and stared at his screen of business documents. The clock struck ten p.m. and he allowed himself to drift into this secret he held within himself and marinate on it as if it were a fine Wolfgang Puck dish. He even took off his glasses, letting his vision grow soft around the edges until his work was nothing but a blurry, scrambled mess of words before him.

Then he thought to himself.

He thought about his father, his brother, the sisters who never acknowledged his existence until he was the only one with any real money, his wife who tried to leave kisses over his bruises but only left with many of her own. He thought about his children and their mistakes. He even thought about his own.

This session of thinking formed into one cohesive thought, one he always concluded with because he wasn't sure what else there was to it.

He was a Felix and he had to continue the legacy, regardless of anything else that stood in the way.

For this newfound identity was truly all he had, all he ever wanted, even if it left him callous and empty.

Surely, there were other conclusions he could have come to, but this was the only one that made sense. The only one he knew how to carry out properly. This was not a risky business move, it was his legacy and his legacy was much easier to fight for than love.

Love was a concept he'd never understand no matter how much thought he put into it.

For with love, the answers were never easy and the consequences were great.

But for pride, the answers were simple, clear, even if they were ruthless.

So Matthew fought for pride.

ⒾⓁⓁⓊⓈⒾⓄⓃ

Erika Felix pressed her face to the cool glass, the only barrier between she and Damon, who was only a feet away. Tucked in a bed with tubes tied to his arms and legs, and a mask just to breathe, he didn't look like her brother. He looked like a fantasy incarnation, someone she'd only dreamed of him being when she fantasized about Matthew's affections showering over her, and only her.

She always wondered what the great, golden boy Damon Felix would be if he was truly broken down, stripped of every talent, every inch of legitimacy, every crown. Usually, she'd see something close to the wannabes at Alabaster Prep. Perhaps a bit like Connor Royce, the gangling scholarship freshman who didn't even have half of what Damon did to get by. Imagining Damon as a peasant with no looks, coordination, or charm used to give her kicks - because Matthew could never love a Connor.

However, watching Damon from the hall of the Southampton Hospital, someone's else's blood streaming into his veins, she realized a truly broken down Damon was not a Connor Royce.

No, it was far much worse than that.

Less merciful.

A broken down Damon was this; sickly pale skin, struggling breaths through a mask, and a gunshot wound so tragic it'd knocked him into a coma.

This was not the Damon she wanted anymore; weak and fragile, barely hanging on to life. Instead, she wanted the real Damon back, the one she loathed with a passion. The one who had everything handed to him, because at least he was fine. At least he was alive. At least she could tell that Damon she loved him.

The sight pained Erika so much she could feel her chest tighten, and her breath constrict. Her nails dug into the glass as if she could shatter it, and she buried her head into the cool exterior.

She couldn't cry anymore. All the tears had come and gone, washed away completely after she'd called Jac. She figured if anyone in Beverly Hills needed to know, it was her. Paisely had promised to handle the rest - Benny, Seth, Veronica, Chris - because if anyone in Beverly Hills hated her, it was them.

She didn't deserve to cry over her brother or even her old acquaintances, so she was trying to hold it in. Take her punishment like the stone cold bitch she'd proclaimed to be, but inside, she was a crippling sail on a sinking yacht. Fighting the currents of the winds, embodied in the screams as they whistled through the waves.

But no one deserved to hear her scream, or cry, or mourn.

Because she wasn't really the boat sinking, she was the storm that sent it downward.

"Erika?"

She heard Lakemond say but didn't move, the cool glass starting to burn against her skin. A part of her liked the discomfort, longed for it.

"Erika, I brought you a latte," Lakemond went on, voice much more calm and soothing than usual. "Paisely said you like Caramel Flan."

"It has to be non-fat." Erika murmured, voice hoarse and nearly cracking in places but she didn't care. She didn't even really care if the latte was non-fat, but it gave her something to focus her mind on other than her withering brother.

"Oh, um, I-she didn't tell me that," Lakemond stuttered, sucking in a breath, a nervous, shaky one that sounded odd on her reserved tone.

It was weird to see the military school teacher so brittle, but Erika somewhat expected it.

'Are you my mother?' She had screamed at her just a week ago. She didn't know the answer but she still remembered what Dr. Gilroy had said, about Lakemond being her guardian. She still remembered the fine print she'd found in the East Hampton school records, Matthew's name nowhere to be seen where it should be.

She let herself ponder it now; Lakemond, with her ocean blue eyes and atrocious black bowl-cut, her bitchy, dismissive demeanor, and the softness in her voice whenever she slipped and said Erika's full name. When she'd first saw the woman, she never would have thought she could possibly be her mother. She was the complete opposite of her father's taste, neither delicate nor elegant. Surely an outcast of high society, and yet it made sense.

Of course, Lakemond could be her mother. If she was, it would thread together all the many reasons Matthew rejected her, unable to give any love to his bastard daughter.

It was comforting, and painful all at the same time to imagine Lakemond as the woman who helped create the epic affair that resulted in Erika Felix.

"You know what," Lakemond sighed. "I could just get another drink. I should have known you'd probably prefer non-fat-"

"I don't really care," Erika said, finally pushing herself off the glass and turning towards her guardian.

Lakemond was just as firm faced as she remembered, except she didn't have the tacky camouflage uniform to go along with her stupor. Her face was bare, and Erika noticed for the first time she had moles that dotted the left side of her chin. She was dressed unlike herself, almost as if she were making an attempt to seem conventionally feminine but failing miserably in her flowy, white cotton blouse, black skinny jeans, and hiking boots. A chunky, blue necklace hung from her neck and she even flaunted small, dangling earrings.

Erika couldn't decide if she was pretty or not in such an apparel, and yet she could see it, the stark resemblance between Lakemond and the Felix family. Her eyes were as blue as Damon and Glory's, the exact shade. And there were faint remnants of where Erika had come from; her firm jawline, her full lips that always seemed to be seconds away from a smirk of sorts, the sureness of her slender shoulders.

Lakemond handed her the latte and Erika took it in her hands, bringing it up to her lips to sip. She realized it didn't matter if it was non-fat, it still tasted the same. There were other things in life much bigger to worry about, than the quality of a drink.

"Paisely had to call her parents," Lakemond said and then added, "She's quite pretty. And sweet. She seems like a good...friend."

Erika tried not to grimace into her drink at the mere mention of Paisely. "Yeah, she's great," she managed.

She was still in shock that Paisely was even here, holding her when she cried, bringing her breakfast and all sorts of snacks to comfort her. Paisely had stayed overnight with her at the hospital, having ditched the chance to be on set with her sister, Jill, to be with the girl who'd tried to ruin her life all because she couldn't accept she liked her.

She could never understand Paisely, or why she was so kind all the damn time. It drove her nuts, made the longing for some kind of punishment more tangible, because she didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve any of Paisely's kindness. In fact, she deserved to go through it all alone.

But she couldn't bear turning the girl away like she should.

Lakemond smiled grimly at this, clearly holding back the usual firmness she had. It reminded Erika of the night Matthew had finally told her he loved her, proposing a trip to the Hamptons at one of the Felix summer houses. He had been holding back too, except he'd been holding back his clear disdain and hatred.

"You two would make a nice couple," she went on, clearing her throat and adjusting her necklace. "It works."

"No," Erika said quickly. "It doesn't." 'Bullies shouldn't end up with the bullied,' she thought. That would be too easy, the bully deserved to rot.

A silence fell over them then, nothing but the sound of machines keeping lungs breathing and busy doctors rushing from room to room filling the cosmic distance between them.

It was in this silence, Erika realized she didn't know what to feel about her. She'd wanted a mother for so long, someone to love her. Someone to say, 'it's okay, he doesn't love you, but I do.' And if Lakemond was this person, she wouldn't know what to do, or what to feel.

"He's doing better than-" Lakemond started, but Erika interjected her. Partly because she didn't want to hear all the encouraging lies everyone was telling her and because she couldn't stand the silence any longer, because she had to know.

"You're my guardian because you're my mother," She stated flatly. "Right?"

Lakemond shifted her weight from one boot to the other, suddenly looking as wrinkled as her clothes. She had been more together when Paisely Mont Vernon was still around, immediately taking on the role of chauffeur of two teenage girls, but now that it was just the two of them, she looked like someone far more different.

Someone ashamed.

"I'm your mother, yes," She replied with another clearing of her throat. "But you can call me Ruth, if that's what you're comfortable with."

Erika frowned slightly, trying to wrap her head around such an elegant name. It didn't fit Lakemond at all. It suggested someone small, tiny, maybe even weak. But Lakemond was broad, strong, in control. Ruth was the name of someone her father could have loved, but Lakemond didn't look like any of the delicate women her father fancied.

Lakemond confirming her suspicions, however, wasn't hitting as hard as she thought it would. In fact, it didn't seem to hit at all. Like a missile fired that she'd already seen coming from miles away, numb to the moment it finally landed.

Because Ruth Lakemond was her mother, and there was never any doubt about it. When Erika looked at her, she could feel such a revelation in every atom of her soul; a raging mix of recognition, relief, and hatred spun into one. The revelation had been quietly forming inside of her, sending out rays the day she demanded to know, but now quietly erupting.

She always thought getting this answer would be more dramatic, more cinematic, more like her world was coming together and falling into place.

Except she was in a hospital, with her dying brother, and the world felt like it was falling apart.

She was losing Damon and that triumphed even knowing who her mother was.

"Why didn't you tell me when I asked?" Erika asked timidly, almost detached from the entire situation. She was still so aware of Damon in a hospital bed, clinging to life, past the glass behind her. She was still aware of all the evil she'd done, all the people she hurt, the man named Oscar who died trying to save her life back at the motel, Cashmere Caldwell and how sadly unhinged she was, the creepy dark web kidnappers, and Damon near death. A thousand times Damon near death!

She could barely focus on Lakemond as she spoke, sounding so far away, "I was afraid. Afraid of what you knew, afraid of what Matthew told you. I was so sure he had made you hate the idea of me..."

"Why didn't you come looking for me?" She asked, even her own voice sounding far, like she was struggling to be present. She could barely feel the warm cup of latte in her hands. "Why didn't you want me?"

Lakemond swallowed hard, blue eyes piercing hers now, almost defiantly. "Because, I was a high school dropout. I couldn't give you the life he could. He was the reason I even got to live so good those few years," she said. "I wanted you to have a better life, even if that meant I couldn't be apart of it."

"But why would you leave me with someone that didn't really want me?"

The question was so forceful, like a growl that Erika didn't realize she could make. As if all her senses were turning back on, Erika could feel herself being dragged back to the present. To the situation at hand, to all the emotions and questions and torment she'd endured for years. Like getting in touch with the very core demons that made her who she was, the girl she didn't quite like but had learned to find strength in, even if it hurt other people in the process.

Lakemond blinked, and Erika knew she'd hurt her.

But she didn't care, because she had hurt her more.

"I wasn't ready for a baby," Lakemond admitted, looking away now and focusing on a nurse wheeling an old man towards the end of the hall. "And Matthew, he gave me...he gave me an easy way out. An easy, expensive way out. It was either take the baby and make small money off the gossip, or get a pay out and give you a luxurious life."

She looked up then. "'But mark my words, I regret giving you up. I was barely twenty, I didn't know what-"

"You treated me like I was a transaction." Erika snapped, and she realized her lack of tears was just a mere break, because she was crying again. Tears were flooding her hazel eyes, blurring her vision, blurring the sight of Lakemond and all her shame.

There was a pain blooming in her chest, one she welcomed. Because it hurt and she needed to hurt, she needed the pain karma always promised to bring. And what a perfect time it was to find out she'd been nothing but money to her mother and a precaution to her father.

"Erika, I was young, I was stupid, I was scared-" Lakemond tried, moving her hands rapidly as she explained but Erika only took a step back, bumping into the cold glass.

She pressed her back against it, let it burn through her flimsy shirt. "You let him pay you to stay away from me, your daughter."

"I know and I'm sorry. But it was hard, I promise you, it was hard-"

"But you couldn't stay away from your sister's husband for not even a second!" Erika shouted, every bit of rage and tears and screams that she ever swallowed in attempts not to be weak, bellowing out of her. Heaving out of her, like an exorcism, exercising every bit of pain she ever pushed back.

She knew she had drawn the attention of the entire hall, nurses and doctors and patients stopping in their tracks to let silence haunt the long strip of death and healing.

Lakemond was sighing, rubbing her temples, still trying to explain.

However, Erika wasn't having any of it. She didn't want to. She wanted to be alone with the pain, let it swallow her whole.

"I understand you're upset," Lakemond tried again, a new firmness to her voice, as if she were trying to redeem her own dignity. "In fact, I don't blame you, Erika. You have every right to be angry."

Erika tsked, closing the distance between she and her mother, crumbling inside but almost the queen bee she used to be before her. "Of course, I'm angry," she said coolly. "Anyone would be if they discovered their mother is just a gold digging whore. But fitting for a bastard I suppose, right, Ruth?"

She watched Lakemond's blue eyes tighten, a flicker of sadness flitting across her face.

Then she shoved the latte back in her mother's arms, flicked her disheveled hair over her shoulder, and stormed off - breaking into tears as she went.

ⒾⓁⓁⓊⓈⒾⓄⓃ

Erika Felix bit her lip so hard she drew blood. Red, splotchy blood that was as vivid as gold and gave her a high she still couldn't quite put her finger on after all the years she'd experienced it. It reminded her of Shane, the coolly composed kidnapper, who'd dug his blade into the palms of her hands whenever Damon took too long contemplating a way out.

Though she'd been nearly frozen in fear, she almost relished in that moment now because it gave her a high. A high that was almost even stronger than belittling some poor 'No-Don't-Even-Try' in the Alabaster Prep courtyard. This high was different, more familiar, and started when she was young. This high took her back to unrequited gazes from the man she loved so much her heart ached for him to just notice her.
This high made her feel punished, though the reasons for it always varied. Right now, however, hovering over a toilet as she watched blood seep into the murky water, she felt punished for all she'd done.

For being so cruel to Damon, and still being lucky enough to have a friend - whom she treated like the skunk under her Louis Vuittons - to support her. For killing the woman who acted as her mother.

Wiping at her bloody lip, Erika did what she'd always been doing since the day the great Matthew Felix told her she was nothing but a mistake.

She put her middle finger up her mouth and choked until her eyes grew teary and she could barely breathe and suddenly she was retching her guts out over the toilet, every bit of the breakfast Paisely Mont Vernon had coaxed her to eat erupting out of her.

As she threw up, she let the words haunt her; bastard, bitch, transaction, murderer. The words were like a series of invisible tattoos. She had made them and she could never escape them.

Something burned in her stomach as she leaned back, like a ball of fire consuming her insides, and she was thrumming with a familiar high as she gasped for air. It was painful and brutal and satisfying - but it wasn't enough.

This wasn't a usual session. She hadn't just ruined her father's legacy yet again.

She had been a monster to her brother, and now he was dying, and the pain Lakemond had inflicted wasn't enough.

She deserved more, more pain, more punishment, more fire that consumed her from the inside out.

Every part of her body begged her to stop. Her mouth tasted like hundred dollar bills and shiny pennies. A lone strand of her auburn hair managed to escape her sloppy ponytail, almost as if it were a plea to stop because surely she wouldn't destroy her precious, glossy hair with remnants of banana-stuffed pancakes, orange juice and a fatty Caramel Flan latte.

However, Erika simply tucked the strand back in her ponytail, ignored the taste in her mouth, and stuck her finger down her throat again.

This time, she was so weak that she slumped over the toilet from total exhaustion afterwards, burning tears like the embers from a fire streaming down her cheeks.

She closed her eyes and thought of Damon, about everything she'd loathed so much about him. Like his looks that always seemed to effortlessly earn him praise in any crowd. Or his drive on the field in which Matthew always daydreamed about being translated to a business. And what she hated the most, the fact he actually genuinely seemed to care.

Damon was just as bad she was at times. They were all Matthew Felix's children, but Damon had more genuine moments, moments that made girls like Jac Lexington fall in love with him and earned him even more genuinely caring friends like Seth Montador.

Damon could be genuine.

She could never be - and yet she was here, alive and breathing, and he was damn near dying.

The thought justified it all.

It justified the pain wallowing in her stomach and the nasty taste in her mouth and the weakness in her limbs. It justified the pain swelling in her chest, ignited by the sheepishness of Lakemond's icy, blue eyes. It justified the absolute hell she was enduring in her mind and she relished in it, relished in the punishment.

'Take it all in, bitch,' she snapped to herself. 'This is what you deserve. This is your Hell. Now take it like a-'

"Erika, are you in there? "

A soft knock on the bathroom stall door startled her, the sound of Paisely's soft voice bouncing off the walls.

Erika's hazel eyes flew open and she immediately felt guilty all over again, like a murderer caught red handed. Couldn't a fallen queen be a masochist in peace?

Hurriedly slamming down the top of the toilet, Erika forced herself to get up, though her limbs ached in protest. She snatched a tissue from the rack and wiped so hard at her lips that she knew she had bruised them.

"Erika?" Paisely called again, knocking once more. "Your mom wants to talk to you, she's waiting-"

Erika swung open the door, nearly knocking the girl in the face as she did, and was immediately met by her reflection in the clear mirrors of the hospital bathroom. Her auburn hair woven in a ponytail atop her head looked ratty. Her eyes were adorned with hollow bags from the lack of sleep and she was so skinny that the clothes - Cashmere Caldwell's clothes that the kidnappers had dressed her in like perverted boys - looked like a size large rather than a size small.

'Good. Evil bitches like you don't deserve to look good, not anymore. Not when all you do is bring people down. Karma's an even bigger bitch isn't she?'

Paisely jumped in front of her, blue eyes wide as she assessed Erika's gaunt face. Her gaze flickered from the frail girl in front of her to the toilet behind her and then her face fell. "You're doing it again aren't you?"

Erika's body swayed slightly as if in warning so she didn't move. She couldn't even find the strength to roll her eyes and come up with some bitchy comeback.

An odd sort of silence passed between the two girls and like a black hole of time, Erika suddenly felt as if she'd fallen and somehow been transported back to the Alabaster Prep bathroom she had spent so many passing periods in. Or more specifically, the time she'd thrown up and Paisely had caught her, just as she had done now.

She wondered what Paisely would do. Would she chastise her again? She could use a bit more pain. She deserved every bit of pain in the world.

"Erika? Talk to me." Paisely urged, taking steps towards her. She pushed strands of hair out of her face and Erika relished momentarily in the fact she could never kiss Paisely again.

"I just-I'm...I'm fine." She managed, a last almost mechanical attempt to hide her pitiful act, but she didn't sound like herself.

She sounded weak and fragile. Like a lame wind against a stronger current.

Paisely shook her head, wavy blonde hair cascading down her shoulders as she did. Unlike Erika, she looked put together in the most 'I'm-from-Cali-Not-New-York' kind of way in a baby pink J Brand sweater with the 70s-themed words, 'Pretty Baby,' and a bleached, jean Re/Done miniskirt that clashed with the more woolly Spring fashions of the Hamptoners.

Her look made Erika feel more punished. She used to hate whenever the girl looked better than her and now she really got to savor such a pain.

"You're throwing up again, Erika, you need to stop." She said softly but more determinedly than usual, so determined that it made her timid, ditsy voice sound like a mixture of Summer and agonizing truths that were only revealed on lonely Winter nights.

The change was jarring, like a stab to her chest.

"You don't look good, you just look...like-like you're dying and-"

"Thank you for caring," was all Erika found herself saying. "I don't deserve it but thanks. You're the best, Paige...you always are." She willed herself to move then, tried to put one foot in front of the other, but it was almost as if her body had forgotten how to do such a thing. And instead of walking, she was staggering.

Paisely caught her just before she could fall, and suddenly Erika felt like she was drowning in the warmth of a friend, Maison Francis perfume engulfing them both - and she felt safe, and loved, and relieved, and she didn't deserve it.

She tried to push Paisely away, though every fiber in her body begged her to stay locked in her embrace forever.

She tried to move but she kept falling, legs like sticks getting tangled up in one another. Her vision started to blur as she tried to flee, but not from tears, but from the world spinning around her as if New York were being thrown to and fro by an earthquake.

Only one word was able to dance across her mind, but she still kept moving, not knowing where she was going, not knowing if she'd even make it.

"Don't do this!"Paisely cried, voice sounding miles and miles away. "I know you're hurting and you're worried about Damon but please don't do this! He wouldn't want you to do this. I don't want you to do this. And your mom and your friends don't want you to-"

"Oh my gosh, Paisely, it's not like I'm trying to kill myself," Erika groaned, coddling her head and closing her eyes because the world kept spinning and that was all that she could really think about. Paisely's voice was constantly going in and out and her head kept lulling around as if it were too heavy for her body. "Pancakes and lattes just aren't a good...mix for me."

"Erika, you're full of bullshit," Paisely said, not angrily, not loudly, and not even in a snapping hiss. She said it with a serenity that both haunted and kissed Erika's bones - and rattled her lulling head with so much weight, like hitting a gong.

"I-I need to eat, the door." Erika murmured, or was it a thought?

"You don't have the guts to forgive yourself and it's going to destroy you," Paisely went on. "But that's not even the sad part. The sad part is when Damon wakes up and finds out you're the one who's dead, he'll just be in pain all over again - and that is what will ultimately make you a bitch."

Like a switch, Erika felt her entire world come crashing down, like watching a building fall inch by inch, frame by frame. In one split second, she saw Damon accompanied by a billion questions. Would he cry? Would he be alone? Would he be strong enough, stronger than her?

She wanted to say he would be. She had made his life a living hell. It'd be like some kind of poetic justice if the very routine she'd leaned on to be Daddy's perfect, skinny daughter destroyed her. He'd probably be happy, right?

But in a split second, she knew such a reality was dead wrong. She could feel it in her chest until it was an agonizing ache. 'You have me,' he had said in the car that dreadful day, ocean blue eyes solemn and filled with something so priceless that she could have sworn she could only find in her father.

In a split second, she remembered all over again how he cared about her, despite how fucked up she had been.

She was just too afraid to accept it.

In a split second, she managed to say, "Paisely, I think I'm dying," and collapse. Except unlike a building, she didn't make a sound.

ⒾⓁⓁⓊⓈⒾⓄⓃ

After Glory had died, Erika used to have nightmares about being taken away from the Felix mansion. Most of her dreams consisted of police in droves bursting into her room with guns aimed at her face, putting her in handcuffs, and whisking her off to jail for the rest of her life. Or police in droves setting up an electric chair right in the middle of her luxurious room and demanding her to take a seat. Sometimes, they would even come for her father too, and Damon would always be in the doorway watching with glee and a bruised face.

However, Erika's worst nightmares were never about the police coming to sentence her, but about Glory herself coming instead. She'd accuse her of her crimes and yank her out of the bed, promising they were going to very different eternities. She would drag Erika all throughout the mansion, the door to her father's study open wide, yet he seemed to purposely ignore her pleas for help.

Now, Erika was having a dream, one of the dreams she hadn't had in ages. A nightmare. And the late Glory Felix was in her bedroom back in Beverly Hills, long, blonde hair cascading down her back and clad in the same nightgown they'd found her in. Her face was perfectly made up in the most expensive of makeup and her pale skin glowed in the moonlight streaming in from the broad windows.

Erika tried to sit up in her bed but she found herself frozen beneath the heavy covers, almost as if she were trapped.

However, instead of making a stride towards her, Glory sunk down to sit at the foot of Erika's bed and began to sob. Loudly, terribly, dreadfully, as if she were dying all over again. "It's not your fault." she sniffled, looking up at Erika with a sad smile. "We're all just victims, aren't we?"

It took Erika a long time to realize she could move, or even speak. "I guess so," she managed, though she still didn't quite understand. Glory was supposed to be blaming her, like all the other dreams. She was supposed to be screaming for her head on a pike in hell.

Yet this Glory was different, sobbing seemingly not for herself, but for everyone. Even for the little girl that loathed her with a passion.

Oddly, it was fitting. More real than any of Erika's other illusions of her - and it finally hit her after all the years she'd spent suffering. The real Glory would have forgiven her. The real Glory loved her too. The real Glory could have been her mother, if she had wanted her to be.

But it was easier to imagine everyone hated her as much as she hated herself.

Glory stopped crying and sighed deeply.

"We're all just victims," she repeated serenely, closing her eyes then in acceptance. "Victims in critical condition in what is being coined as the 'Rich Kid Kidnapping Mayhem.'"

Erika frowned, unsettled by how quickly Glory's voice had changed. "What?" She asked, but Glory didn't open her eyes nor even turn in her direction. Instead, she kept rambling, rambling as if she were some sort of news reporter documenting all of Erika's recent pain and-

At that moment, Erika woke up in one blink, the sound of a TV and the outside droning of a hospital welcoming her back.

In one blink, her luxurious bedroom had been swapped for a dreary blue hospital room with looming glass windows and bulky equipment boasting calculations only a doctor could understand. Instead of a king-sized bed, she was spread out on a twin, blue-and-white sheets pulled up to her chin and dull light bulbs staring back at her from the ceiling.

'How am I in a hospital room?' She thought to herself, though as immediately as she began to wonder, she remembered; the purging, the realization that she could die and leave Damon all alone, and the small trance-like terror she felt as she realized she was dying.

She wiggled her wrists then, already expecting the tubes looping around her limbs, restraining her from standing up and walking out. The only real surprise was the fact there weren't very many holding her down. Wasn't she supposed to get food fed to her through a tube that blocked her airway like the movies? Or was that just for anorexia?

Erika wasn't sure what she had. Sometimes, she felt like starving. Other times, she felt like eating every cookie in the Felix pantry and immediately throwing it up. Whatever felt the most punishing for the according time.

"..one of the heirs of the Caldwell millions, Cashmere Caldwell, is still missing along with the kidnappers," said a TV-ready voice lacking any real enthusiasm. Upon the TV hanging in the corner of her room was a projection of CNN. The channel was flaunting a classic Trinity School yearbook picture of a purple-haired girl with the most flawless ebony skin and a pearly, cheeky white grin clad in a blue blazer. Beside her, a camera still of a blurry man leading her into a phone booth in a tiny gas station.

Erika grimaced as she remembered Cashmere Caldwell. It had all been fun and games when it was just the two of them, both trying to have some sort of dominance over the other, but it was Cash who'd taken it further. However, Erika couldn't even judge.

They were both far more alike than they had realized at the time, both feeling ostracized from the people that were supposed to love them, erupting with extremities that came out in devastating ways.

Now all Erika could do was respect her.

"Authorities say she was last seen at a gas station in East Hampton in which the kidnappers got in their vehicle after shooting one of the victims and took off with her in a red Ferrari that is under the Caldwell name," the reporter went on, showcasing more images of Cash on the beach with friends, beneath the eiffel tower smiling grimly with her mother, and a selfie she took in Saks in which she almost looked sad. "The Caldwell's publicist recalled the Caldwells sending a ransom of nearly twenty five million to the kidnappers, only to be sent a strand of their daughter's hair in a box to their doorstep with a note asking for more money and a box of pizza-"

Suddenly, the TV switched off, nothing but a faded flash of darkness in its wake and Erika looked up to see Lakemond in the doorway, having grabbed the remote. "Good to see you're awake," she greeted softly, and Erika felt her empty stomach drop in the most painful of ways.

"I was watching that," she retorted lowly.

"The doctor said you fainted from exhaustion, low blood sugar, and stress," Lakemond said pointedly. "The last thing you should be doing is watching CNN."

Erika narrowed her eyes, the only thing she could seem to do with tubes attached to her. "And the last thing you should have been doing is opening your legs to married men with no regard for the consequences, but you did it anyway, so who are you to talk?"

Lakemond took a step back, visible hurt flitting across her face, before she defaulted back to her usual dismissive expression. After the truth had come out, it was obvious Lakemond felt exposed and was trying to regain the upper hand but Erika refused to give it to her. She couldn't. Not when she needed to be angry, not when she'd wasted all this time hating the aunt who loved her because she longed for her real mother.

If only she had known her real mother hardly gave a damn anyway.

"How long have you been throwing up your food?" Lakemond suddenly shot back, jaw rigid, an almost taunting glint in her eye. Suddenly, Erika could kill her too.

"What are you talking about?"

"Paisely told me you were throwing up your food. How long have you been doing it?"

'That bitch,' Erika thought, and yet at the same time, an odd feeling coursed through her. A mixture of anger and relief. Anger that Paisely had betrayed her and the fact the ditsy blonde even had the guts to do such a thing, and relief that it was finally coming to light. Because she couldn't die, not when there was a fifty percent chance Damon could live. If he lived, he'd hate her for dying.

Looking up at the dim light bulbs above her, Erika mashed her lips together. "Off and on...for three years."

Lakemond sighed then, shaking her head.

"Don't be disappointed, mother," Erika snapped. "You don't have the right to be when you abandoned me for a payout."

"Erika, I know you're angry but I need to know more about-"

"Why? So you can lock me up in some psych ward like Dad did? That's a great way to get rid of me again and still get Daddy's 50k child support, right, Mommy?"

"I'm going to help you because clearly Matthew wasn't looking out for your health-"

"No one was looking out for me. Not even you. So shush!" Erika exclaimed and somehow, she was able to rise up despite her restraints and balance herself on her palms. There was still a slight dizziness to her as she did, but it didn't feel like an earthquake anymore.

Lakemond sighed again, dropping the remote and letting it clatter to the glossy, linoleum floor as she ran her hands through her black bowl-cut. For a fraction of a second, Erika could have sworn she saw tears building up at the brims of her icy blue eyes but just as she saw them, they were gone as Lakemond massaged her face.

"Erika," Lakemond breathed, looking down at her tacky hiking boots as if she were trying to calm herself. "We have to get along. I'm your mother and by law, I have to take care of you. We're going to be living with each other, we have to-"

"What?" Erika gasped.

"Yes, I'm your guardian," Lakemond continued, still speaking slowly and cautiously as if she were meditating. "I have complete responsibility for you now. That means you have to live with me."

Erika felt as if the breath had been whipped out of her. "But-but what about Beverly Hills? And Paisely? And..and Damon?"

Damon was her utmost priority. Damon was the reason she didn't quite hate herself just yet. Her brother was her hope and her last chance to redeem herself. He was someone that hadn't just waltzed into her life but had loved her despite how cruel she'd been to him. She owed him that same love - even if she had to break her evil, little heart trying to figure it out.

She couldn't be separated from Damon. She just couldn't.

"You won't be living in Beverly Hills with Damon anymore, Erika," Lakemond replied calmly. "I have a small apartment in the inner city here in New York. You'll probably continue going to East Hampton for therapy for your eating disorder until I find an appropriate two-bedroom. Then from there, you can go to normal school and have a normal life...with me."

For a moment, Erika tried to imagine just that. Living in New York, going to a military school, actually talking about her purging. And then going home, eating dinner with her mother, someone who maybe loves her. Hell, she could even spend all night talking on the phone with Paisely. She could make trips to visit Damon every month.

Or she'd be miserable. Living in New York, going to military school, purging because there was no way for her to escape. And then going home, eating dinner with her mother, who loved money more than her own child. She could spend all night stalking her old friends on social media, who have moved on without her. She could call the Felix mansion every month, begging to see Damon, only for Matthew to reject her, beating Damon whenever he somehow made the call.

"Under my favorite fucking Jimmy Choos!" Erika snapped, and she tore a few tubes off her right arm as she forced herself fully upright. "I know you want to catch up on missed time with your daughter but you can't have it both ways. You left me and that's that."

She ripped another few tubes off her left arm and threw her legs over the bed before standing up completely.

"Erika, you can't do that," Lakemond protested but Erika only interjected her.

"Damon is all that matters to me," she said forcefully. " He's the only one that's been there for me, even if I didn't want him to. And you will not take me away from my brother. No one will. Not now, not ever. And if you try, I'll be your worst fucking nightmare, even worse than anything Matthew could have done to you, understood?"

"I'm afraid that's where you're wrong."

At that moment, Erika heard the mentioned Devil himself echoing down the hall, startling her out of her ruthless attack as he emerged behind Lakemond in the doorway. Lakemond spun around, instantly giving Matthew Felix space to stroll effortlessly past her into the room, her expression unreadable.

The businessmen was clad in a grey, classic Peter Millar suit, thin, Armani prescription glasses adorning his hazel eyes. It was a casual look for the man which suggested he'd arrived in a haste but still looked so punctual, even the most observant eye would hardly notice. He carried a brown, bulky briefcase whilst his other hand was in the pocket of his trousers.

"D-daddy?" Erika found herself gasping, hating how natural it was to call him that.

However, Lakemond quickly looked away, muttering something under her breath.

"Hello to you too, Ruth," The devilishly handsome millionaire greeted as he came upon them, though there wasn't a hint of a smile on his face. "I must say you don't look very pleasant these days. You're quite a sight."

Lakemond only heaved out a big breath.

Erika observed her father with fresh eyes, hoping to see something different, something that didn't make her heart yearn for him to love her. He didn't look like the man she'd idolized her entire life, the man she'd been fighting so relentlessly for, the man she wanted to shower some good old fatherly love on her until she didn't need anything else. Instead of seeing a king on his throne, she saw someone so dark that it almost made her feel better about herself. His scowl didn't seem superior but frightening, like a ravenous wolf hidden in a lion's coat, like jarring, sharp crystal hidden behind manufactured diamond.

There wasn't any light in Matthew, there couldn't be in any light in a man who left his children for dead.

"What are you doing here?" She tried, voice coming out awfully quiet and meek, like a whisper stuck in her throat.

"Is Damon not my son?" He questioned, putting his cold gaze directly on Erika. He was studying her flimsy hospital gown and frail, disheveled body with disapproving eyes, a gaze she recognized.

"Erika, what have you done to yourself?" He scowled then. "Especially at a time like this."

His words, even as she hated him, still felt like a stab to the gut.

She wanted to say something cunning, something to convey all the hurt he'd ever caused her, all the adoration she no longer had. But her mind was tumbling out words before she could even think, words she'd been dying to tell him, "I-I did it for you. You didn't want me to be fat, so I-I did it for...you."

Matthew's eyes widened then, but not in a vulnerable way, but a controlled, purposeful action of disgust and disapproval. " All you're doing for me is adding more of a burden. Your brother has been shot and all you can think about is starving yourself," he shook his head and turned to Lakemond. "This is your burden now, Ruth, make do with her."

"If anything, you're the reason your children are in hospital beds, Matthew," Lakemond suddenly shot back, looking Matthew directly in the eyes. "You abandoned both of them to die in a gas station, this is all your fault."

"What an interesting viewpoint, Ruth, but this is none of your concern," was all Matthew said to her, completely unfazed by her boldness. His soft, gleaming, regal glare rested on them both as he lowered his glasses and produced a manila folder from his briefcase, handing it to Lakemond. "Nevermind that, these are the rest of Erika's documents. Her birth certificate, social security, everything you will ever need. By tomorrow, I expect you both to be gone and refrain from any contact with Damon and I."

Erika felt as if she were about to faint - no, not faint, but combust, explode, ignite. "You-you can't do this," she tried to shout, but again, it came out like a breathless whisper. "He's my brother, you can't keep me from him."

They both ignored her, as if she weren't even in the room, and Lakemond took the folder and pressed it tightly to her side.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Matthew got to beat Damon. That he got to all but spit on her before proceeding to throw her away as soon as she was of no use. That he got to desert them on the brinks of death and then come to retrieve his son as if he hadn't left at all.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that he was getting away with it.

Erika had always said, 'No one fucks with me and gets away with it.' It was a mantra that applied to every 'no-don't-even-try' in the Beverly Hills school district. And the more she boiled in her father's hatred, the more she was starting to think he shouldn't be exempt of such a rule either.

He needed to pay, and although she wasn't sure how, she knew one thing for sure; he was not going to keep her away from her brother.

With a rage that combusted, exploded, and ignited, she stepped in between the two adults, turning to face her father.

"You can't order me around anymore," She spat directly in his face, causing the man to blink in annoyance. "You foolishly gave up that authority, which wasn't a smart move because now, I can ruin you and you can't even stop me. I can kiss as many girls as I want, I can steal as much as I want, I can run your reputation to the ground and there's nothing you can do about it. And here I thought you were a businessman. If I want to see my brother, I will, because guess what? You can't control me. So take a seat in the waiting room, Daddy."

With a defiant huff, she finished, and yet she didn't feel victorious at all.

In fact, she felt desperate, almost as if she were still pleading, as if she were still at his mercy.

As if she were still in his cage and he was setting her free, except she was begging him to keep her locked up again. Begging him to let her stay with his own game of threats and manipulation.

However, Matthew continued to blankly look down at her, never faltering in his indifference."Very smart of you to identify your leverage and use it, Erika, I taught you well, " He commended coldly. "But you haven't said anything of substance. "

He waved someone over from the hall then, expression turning into a look of airy superiority as a nurse came skipping over. "Yes, how can I help all of you?" She greeted, clearly taken by Mr. Felix's appearance as she began to pick at her strawberry blonde hair.

"I would like to ban these two women from visiting my son, Damon Felix in Room 301," was all Matthew said, startling both Ruth and Erika. He didn't even look at them as he said it, a bored expression on his face as he regarded the nurse.

The nurse gave a little gasp, quickly straightening her posture. "Yes, sir, but, uh," her eyes flickered over to Erika. "We should probably do this in private-"

"I assure you, it's fine," Matthew replied flippantly. "The names are Ruth and Erika Lakemond."

At that, a sharp pang ripped through Erika, tearing from her chest all the way up to the particles of her very mind. 'Erika Lakemond?' If she was Erika Lakemond now, that meant...

The nurse shot her an apologetic glance, adjusting the collar of her blue shirt before quickly slipping out of the room.

"You can't do this, he's my brother! He's still my brother!" She shouted, but it came out more like a pathetic, weak sob.

Matthew only regarded her with a cold, dismissive glance as if legally destroying her connection to her own brother was a mild manner. "It's done. Now I suggest you get back in the bed, you've done enough damage to your body today."

'This can't be real.' Erika thought, helplessly watching as Ruth began to guide her towards the bed again. It was as if she was back to being that little girl again, who threw tantrums and threatened everyone around her all because she couldn't accept that she didn't belong. That she wasn't a Felix.

Being ignored by her father was one thing, but actually being shunned?

With that, Matthew Felix started for the door, not even giving his daughter one last glance before leaving her once more forever.

"Get back in the bed, Erika. You're still weak." Lakemond said monotonously, but Erika could barely hear her. All she could see was Matthew's form as he started down the hall from her room window, slowly moving out of sight.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to burn. She wanted to disappear. She wanted him to stop walking away.

Before she knew it, she was breaking out of Lakemond's grip and running, pushing open the door before it could close with all her dainty might and running after him.

ⒾⓁⓁⓊⓈⒾⓄⓃ

"Matthew!" He heard her cry, having heard her running before he even turned around.

Matthew Felix, the sleek and composed businessman, turned around, maintaining a dull, expectant look. He knew she was going to chase after him. It was why he had even stopped by her room after all, for one last glance, one last look, at the daughter he could never love the way he should.

He had taken in her frail appearance and had grimaced to himself, remembering how discontented he had been the day he'd told her perhaps she needed to lose some weight. Because surely that had to be the reason why she wasn't bringing home any boyfriends with grand connections and parents with deep pockets for him to take advantage of. He hadn't thought about the consequences then, or maybe he had, but hadn't cared. He hadn't been displeased with her that day, he had been displeased with himself.

And he had taken in her frail appearance and had grimaced, because that was the way he would remember his daughter; ravaged by her own father's hate.

He looked at her now, standing idly and lost before him, and tried not to ponder. Only taking in what he could see visibly, and not what he could see beneath the surface. In this moment, he tried to remember what he was fond of; her determination, the special smile he rarely ever got to see. The little things he never appreciated.

"I hate you," were her last words, shaky, like her trembling frame.

He wished these had been his last words to his own father, but quickly decided that wouldn't have been fitting, because he wouldn't have meant them.

And he knew Erika didn't either.

Thus, with a resolute nod, he gave his own last words, except they were spoken in the composure that he let slip away.

Only for her to see.

Only for her to remember the way her father's coolness slipped and revealed a regretful, sorrowful, pained revelation as he walked away.

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A/N: Hey guys! I know it's been a looooong time since an update so I apologize. I've been dealing with depression and anxiety and trauma and all of it caused a huuuuge Writer's Block. A lot of this chapter was written over the span of my long hiatus though and it took me a long time to realize I pretty much already had the chapter written :p

I was debating back and forth whether or not to include Matthew's POV (but he probably won't get another one to be honest) so I'd be really happy to hear what you guys think about him? And Lakemond? And Erika?

I hope this super long, almost 10,000-word chapter makes up for the long wait, thank you to all who reads <3