Chapter 5 – What Aren't You Telling Me?
AVERY >>
"I know you are not gay but there is nothing bad in being gay for the sake of your father.
I trust you. I know you can do it," she said to me with a full-blown smile.
Can she hear herself? What in me made her think that I was ever going to get attracted to a male gender just like me?
What in them was going to get me attracted to them?
"I'm not doing it," I said firmly.
My arms were folded across my chest, my feet rooted to the floor like I'd grown into the damn tiles.
"I'm not marrying a man," I repeated. "I'm straight. I don't even… I don't even look at guys that way."
Dahlia didn't look surprised. She just smiled.
"Oh, Avery," she sighed. "No one is asking you to fall in love or write romantic poems. It's just a marriage on paper."
I shook my head immediately. "You don't get it. I don't want to marry a man. I don't even see myself falling for someone with the same gender as me."
"And you won't," she said, like it was no big deal. "It's not about falling. It's a few years. Just enough time to get the money, and then—poof—divorce. Simple."
I stared at her like she had lost her mind.
"Don't 'simple' me," I snapped. "What about the sex part? Are you even thinking about that? Or you just skipped that detail in your little evil plan?"
My heart was beating hard. I didn't even want to imagine it. But I had to ask.
She rolled her eyes. "Sex should be the last thing on your mind, Avery. You should be thinking about how to survive long enough to get paid."
I blinked at her in disbelief.
"Dahlia. Seriously?" I said, laughing bitterly. "Sex is the most important thing in a marriage. That's literally one of the main parts of it. How can you tell me not to think about that?"
She crossed her arms and stepped closer. "Because," she said, "he's not going to ask you for sex. Not even once. Ever."
I froze.
That shut me up for a second.
"…What?" I asked slowly. "What do you mean?"
She looked away briefly, then shrugged. "Just trust me. It's not going to be a problem."
I narrowed my eyes. "No. That doesn't make sense. What makes you so sure? How would you know he won't want sex? I mean… even gay people have sex. Everyone has needs."
She was still quiet.
"And what if he gets horny, huh?" I continued, heart racing now. "What if he thinks I'm into it too and tries something? What am I supposed to do then? What am I supposed to say?"
Dahlia finally looked back at me.
"I'm telling you he won't," she said again. "That's all you need to know."
"No," I said. "That's not enough. Why are you so sure? Why are you acting like you already know what he's going to do?"
I took a step forward.
"Is he impotent or something? Is that it? Is that why he won't ask for sex?"
She didn't answer.
"Does he not have a dick?" I asked, seriously starting to panic now. "Or would he rather sit and masturbate in the corner instead of touching me? What's wrong with him?!"
Still no answer.
"There's something you're not telling me, Dahlia," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "And I need to know."
"He's not the sex type," Dahlia said again, like she was stating the weather.
I raised a brow.
"The sex type?" I repeated slowly, like she just spoke alien.
She nodded confidently. "You won't need to worry. He's not going to touch you."
I stared at her for a second, then laughed dryly.
"What exactly makes you think that?" I asked. "Have you seduced him before and he turned you down or something?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Or wait," I continued, sarcasm slipping into my voice, "did you send a guy to test him and he didn't take the bait? Is that how you came to this magical conclusion that he doesn't like sex?"
She chuckled softly, like I was being dramatic. "No, Avery. I haven't done either of those things."
She leaned in a little. "But what I do know is this—he's been celibate for two years."
My face twisted in confusion. "Celibate?"
"Two years, Avery," she repeated proudly. "Not even a kiss. He's been clean, cold, untouched. So believe me, you have nothing to fear."
I scoffed.
"Stop saying that, Dahlia," I snapped. "We both know what that means. If he hasn't had sex in two years, that means when he finally does get married, he's going to want it nonstop. He'll go crazy with it."
She raised a brow like she was surprised I said that.
"Even me," I went on, pointing to myself, "I'd want sex if I got married. Obviously not with a man, but still—marriage comes with intimacy. You're here talking nonsense."
Dahlia just kept smiling.
I threw my hands up. "And you told me I'll be in that marriage for years, and I'm supposed to believe he won't touch me once? What makes you so sure?"
She shrugged. "Maybe… because he doesn't like men."
I froze. "What?"
She smiled wide, like the idea had just clicked. "That's it, Avery. That's the key. He's not gay. He was forced into it. Just like you."
I stared at her with a blank face.
"Dahlia… do you ever get tired of lying?"
Her smile didn't move.
"Even a five-year-old wouldn't believe that," I said. "You can do better."
I shook my head and stepped back. "Why would someone that rich—someone with all the money and power in the world—agree to marry someone he doesn't even like?"
I pointed at myself. "Me? I get it. I'm broke. I'm desperate. I'd do anything. But him? You expect me to believe he's being forced?"
Dahlia didn't reply.
I stared hard at her. "So tell me then… what's really wrong with him?"
She still didn't answer.
I laughed bitterly and turned around.
"Alright. You leave me no choice," I said. "I'm declining your wicked offer."
I began walking off.
Dahlia called after me, her voice colder now. "Go ahead. But remember, when your father dies, his blood is going to be on your hands."
I stopped walking.
"Do you think he'll forgive you?" she added. "Knowing you could have saved him?"
I turned to her one last time.
"That's up to my father," I said quietly. "Not you."
I walked past her and went straight back to the ward.
Papa was lying there peacefully, his eyes closed again. I walked slowly to the side of the bed and sat down, gently taking his hand into mine.
His skin was colder than before.
I stared at the heart monitor. The beeping was steady—slow but steady.
Then suddenly… the sound changed.
Beep… beep… beepbeep… beeeeeep.
"What's happening?" I gasped, jumping to my feet. "What's going on?!"
The beeping sped up, then dropped.
"Doctor!" I shouted. "DOCTOR! My dad—his heart! Something's wrong!"
No one came.
I spun around and saw my stepsister by the door. "Go get the doctor—NOW!" I screamed.
She ran off immediately, and I just stood there, helpless. My chest felt tight. My head was spinning.
"Please, please, please, Papa—just hold on. Just a little more," I whispered.
The doctor finally burst into the room with two nurses.
"Sir, please step outside!" he ordered.
I backed away, shaking, my back hitting the wall as the door slammed shut.
I started pacing the hallway, hands running through my hair. "Oh God… oh God…"
"Please don't die," I whispered. "Please…"
It felt like forever.
I sat on the cold bench, eyes locked on the door, unable to think or breathe.
Then finally, the door opened.
The doctor stepped out.
I ran to him immediately. "Doctor, please tell me he's okay. Please. Please."
He held up a hand. "We managed to stabilize him—for now."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"But," he added, voice serious, "this was a close call. If we don't start treatment immediately, I can't promise we'll be able to save him next time."
He looked me straight in the eyes.
"You have less than three days now, Avery. Get the money. Or prepare to say goodbye."