Page 30 of Possess Me! (I Want You To)

But I couldn’t do it.

Reaching for the paintbrush just felt wrong.

After spending half the afternoon wasting time, I had no choice but to give up. So I abandoned my paints in favor of applying for jobs online. Flopped over on my mattress, art supplies kicked unceremoniously under the bed, I submitted application, after application. Enough time passed that my stomach began to growl, and a tension headache throbbed at the base of my skull. The sun crept high in the sky, the sunny summer heat creeping through the cracks in the window.

Submitting resumes was a familiar process. Before I’d made it big in the art world, I’d done this at least a dozen times. I tried not to think about how sad it was that I was back where I started again, repeating a process I hadn’t done since I’d turned twenty.

Realistically, even if I started working immediately, whatever money I made wouldn’t be enough to pay my portion of rent—there just wasn’t enough time. But at least it would be something, right?

I might have to give in to Violet’s offer just this once, even though I’d rather take a fist to the face than accept help. I’d just have to pay her back.

Violet was making a good chunk of money on Only Fans. Her following was loyal and wildly enthusiastic, and she’d been offering for months to cover my portion of rent with the extra cash she earned. I’d always refused. Even though refusing had meant selling my last few paintings for far less than they were worth, in my desperation not to lean on someone else. I was running out of options though, and we’d lose the apartment if I stalled any longer. I wasn’t sure why the thought of relying on someone else made me want to gouge out my own eyeballs but hey—knowing I was fucked up mentally?

Yeah, that wasn’t really a surprise.

I’d never really outgrown who I’d been. A scared little boy, robbing gas stations, his palms sweaty, as he fought tooth and nail for every good thing he’d ever had in life. All I had now was my pride, and even that wasn’t worth much anymore.

What had happened to me?

What had happened to the prodigy? The artist? The son that my mother bragged about all over town. The man that had paid for not only college for his little sister but his mother’s minivan too. The man that everyone was in awe of—virile and colorful—full of life and a vision for the future.

My future now was scarily blank.

I saw no way out of the pit I’d fallen inside.

There was no ladder.

No rope.

No handholds.

Only the teasing flicker of a future overhead that wasn’t mine anymore.

I shut my laptop with an aggrieved huff and laid it gently on the floor beside the bed before I flopped down again with a sigh. Violet’s robe caught around my shoulders and I wiggled some more to un bunch the fabric. Rolling around on my belly atop the covers and whining didn’t fix my problems, but it did make me feel just a little better. At least until the chill of another presence filled the room, and I stopped my depressed-worm wiggling, my head popping up, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

He was back.

“Dramatic.” Prudence’s voice electrified me into action and I jumped about a foot in the air. My heart was racing, and I slapped a hand over it as if that would stop it from leaping out of my chest. I struggled to my knees.

“Holy shit,” I gasped, the pounding against my ribs vibrating my palm.

“Don’t turn around.” Prudence was behind me, just as he had been that night that felt like eons ago. It didn’t escape my notice that I had been in this exact same position the last time he’d appeared. On my knees for him. Quivering in anticipation. His voice rumbled through the air, musky, dark, and impossibly sexy. He was a rainstorm. He was the fathomless depths of the ocean. Deep, deep blue. Like turbulent waters.

The pile of baseball caps stacked on top of my bedposts were not nearly as interesting as the man—ghost?—behind me, but I somehow managed to stay obediently still while I faced them. I’d had days to wonder about my ghostly companion. Days to come up with questions.

So I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Why do you care if I see you?” I asked, unable to help myself. The curiosity had been killing me. I was an artist. Visuals had always been important to me.

“I don’t.”

“Then why—”

I felt the brush of lips against the shell of my ear and I shuddered, holding carefully still for fear of scaring Prudence away again. He was a cool presence behind me. Solid, yet still icy-cold. Prudence’s voice blanketed my body, familiar as an old friend, tickling my senses, exploding heat through my veins till my cock was hard and my toes curled.

“I like the way your heart races when you’re scared,” he murmured, toying with me, like always. A cat playing with a mouse.

“I’m not scared of you.” That was ridiculous.

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