Page 12 of Shattered

When I push the ajar windows wide open, Macy grabs my arm.

“Lila!”

To Macy’s horror, I don’t listen.

Chapter 3

Asher

It took us a day and a half to unpack, but we managed to get the place looking not so bad. Neither of us wanted to be tripping over boxes and shit for weeks, so we got everything done in one go.

We finish after midnight, and I have to shower and change, my clothes drenched in sweat. Though I could hardly handle standing for another minute, it was worth it when I came out feeling refreshed.

Bane brings out a speaker and blasts some hard rock while we chill in the chairs we stole from the Sunshine House.

“I checked out our shop; it looks pretty good besides the barf pink walls. I’ll pick up some paint and throw the first coat on tomorrow,” Bane says.

“Go dark grey. I’ll frame and hang some of our designs on the walls.”

“When are you gonna have time to do that?” Bane asks.

“You’re taking all of our customers for now.”

Bane rolls his eyes. “This isn’t some self-deprecating bullshit, is it?”

I ignore his snide comment. “It just makes sense. I want you to get as much experience as possible so I can let you go solo.”

“I’m already going solo. I hardly need you.”

“Great, well, soon youreallywon’t need me,“ I grumble.

It’s not just for him. My spark is basically gone. I just can’t fucking do it right now. Everything feels so heavy.

“You wanna tell me what happened in the upstairs bathroom?” Bane asks, motioning to his cheek, pointing out the massive gash on mine that’s faded into a pink line.

“Not particularly.”

“I cleaned up the mess. You’re welcome.”

“Did you throw that fucking toilet seat in the garbage?”

“It came with the house, Ash,” he says, annoyed.

“Bull fucking shit.”

Our fight is halted when my phone goes off on my chest, and I check it. It’s from Jared, and it’s a picture of a HORRIBLE tattoo that I can’t even make out. It’s faded and splotchy; it looks like it was picked while healing or just butchered out the gate. A single word follows.

Jared: Help.

Asher: You better be fucking joking.

Jared knows better than that. He’d never pick a tattoo or go to an artist who would butcher one like that.

Jared: Yeah, I am. I knew that I’d get some kinda response from you tho.

Motherfucker. I’ve been ignoring him for weeks now. Shit’s been too heavy. A moment later, he calls me, and Bane raises a brow as I answer, lowering the volume of the music from deafening to just ear-splitting. I have to max the volume on my phone to actually hear.

“Fuck you,” I growl at Jared.

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