"There's no way to make it better, but I want you to know that I'm sorry. Not just because I got caught. Not just because I was sent away. I'm sorry because of what I did to you, Princess. I never meant to hurt you." She watched him scooting his seat closer to the couch. It made her bristle with uncomfortability, but at the same time, she yearned for a hug from the man who'd almost single-handedly raised her.

The closer he became, the more he spoke, the bolder he became; the more rage seeping from Viktor. His teeth grinded, his hands balled, his eyes twitched. Evelyn took his hand, squeezing it gently. She leaned against him, and pressed her lips to his ear. "You can yell at him. This isn't just my moment. He can take it. He's a grown man. He wronged you, too. Just do it." Her soft voice seemed to calm him down just enough for him to regain control of his body.

The male stood, staring down at her father. He'd had all his questions answered. He had grown past playing detective. Evelyn knew he wanted to hear it from her father's lips. "Mr. Lewis. Brother-killer. Tell me, to my face, right now." His voice came out more in a rumbly growl than any cohesive emotion. He was trying not to lose his cool in front of his girlfriend, for her sake alone. She could respect that. "Why?"

Evelyn stood. The boys stared at each other, neither willing to break the lock of their gaze even when their barrier and link decided she didn't want to be a part of this conversation any longer. She stepped out of the room, slinking toward the stairs.

Halfway up the steps, she heard the shouting begin. It was good, though. Viktor needed to get it out. He needed to release the anger. She was just grateful he'd been here with her during the time of her father's return. Nothing could prepare her for the never-ending surprises of the following day. The scariest part wasn't her father himself. It was the baggage he'd brought back from that miserable place he'd been rotting in for the past year.

Of course, Viktor's parents didn't let him stay overnight a, with a girl, or b, with the murderer of their eldest son. If Evelyn had to assume, she'd say they were placing bets in whether or not she'd survive the night. She wanted to prove them wrong, actually. To prove that her father wasn't all he really was. She wished, strangely enough, that he'd been a horrible parent before, so that everyone would be able to tell that coming home had impacted him in the greatest of ways.

She supposed that the greatest thing now for their relationship was that her father was going to be home a lot more now than he ever had been before. The next morning, while brushing her hair in the mirror, she could smell homemade breakfast downstairs. No more mini-cinnamon rolls or lack of food in the morning. No more bags of apples and pocket knives.

She pulled her hair up in a dainty pink ribbon. She let out a slow breath, and pushed herself to her feet. Her dress was the same girlie shade. It was just a sundress, casual but sweet. It was time to appear like a normal human again. She twirled around, and made her way downstairs, led by the sound of sizzling bacon and the aroma of fried eggs. She could already taste the succulent flavors. It almost lifted her spirits. Of course... nothing could've been worse than what she saw.

Her father hovered over the stove, enjoying his ability to cook real food. On the counter lay three plates. One was hers, with the delicious meal laid out so that the eggs were eyes and the bacon was a smile. The second plate, his, was empty, as he was making his food last. The third plate was half-eaten, under the smile of a very beautiful, elegant-looking woman.

Evelyn presumed she must've been some sort of "classy" hooker, if that was a thing, because there was no way someone who looked like her would get with a serial killer on his first day back home from a psychiatric institution. She didn't look horribly stupid, and adorned a modest but romantic royal-blue dress. So yeah, she must've been a fancy, "classy", expensive hooker. At her table! The disrespect her father already displayed! This was worse than anything he'd ever done in front of her before now. How dare he?

She sat at her spot by the counter, poking at her eggs and glaring at the woman. She expected the prostitute to roll her eyes or start flirting with her father just to annoy the aggravated teenager.

However, to her surprise, the woman turned to her, flicked her luscious wavy hair behind her shoulder, and smiled. "You must be Evelyn! I've heard so much about you. Pretty much your whole life story. My name is Cosette. Wow, I haven't seen a teenager in years. You're not finished growing, are you?" The way she spoke seemed to indicate a small sense of social ineptness.

Even so, Evelyn was just surprised by the words. "What? My stor- hey! You!" She snapped her fingers at her father, who glanced over his shoulder at her. "Yes, Princess?" His sheepish grin carried on through his laying-out of his own sizzling food. He placed the pan in the sink, and sat with the girls, uncertainty riddling his expression.

He seemed so nervous. In a twisted sort of way, that made Evelyn feel powerful. She didn't want to be her father's daughter, in that sense. But at the same time, maybe she'd just have to use this to her advantage. When the threat to leave or call the police was always present, lingering in the air, and when he wanted to rebuild a relationship with her, she could honestly say that she'd at least use that to get some answers.

(Gaslighting? Manipulation? Gosh, I don't know who to love and who to hate, except for loving you guys! Muah!)