Page 15 of Brutal Prince

Indi

Iwake up with stiff muscles, looking like I was involved in some kind of zombie apocalypse.

Luckily, I won.

The shower stings my scratches and makes my bruises ache, but I ignore everything as I attempt to transform myself from a beast into a beauty.

When I’m done drying off, I feel a ton better than I did crawling into bed last night, but I still look like shit. Sleepless nights and a non-existent appetite does that to you.

I run my fingers through my dark, shoulder-length hair to muss it up, and then leave it to dry.

But before I leave the bathroom, my eyes stick for a long moment on the bruises on either side of my hips.

Slowly, I fold my fingers over those marks.

Holy crap. Briar — if that’s even his real name — has got big motherfucking hands.

I smell bacon and toast and coffee, and for a moment I’m whisked back to the past. Mom always made us breakfast on weekends. I’d wake up and smell this same delectable miasma of drool-worthy food and know it was gonna be a good day.

My heart aches with the memory, and I bite the inside of my lip when I imagine her spinning around wearing an apron, a spatula in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

Morning, Angel! Thought you’d never wake up.

I swallow hard at the knot in my throat. My swollen heart constricts painfully when I step into the dining room and see a single chafing dish set in the middle of the massive teak table. My grandmother is at the head, and my place is all the way on the other side of the long table again.

“Morning,” I say, giving her a little wave.

Last night, I decided I was going to give this whole situation a good ole’ college try. I mean, heck, my grandma doesn’t deserve this any more than I do, right? Why the hell Mom made her my guardian is something I can’t comprehend…but, then again, she never had anyone else after Dad died.

It’s always just been Summer and Indi, the Virgo Troublemakers.

I take a careful seat, and stare at the dish. It’s almost three feet away from me. For the first time in a week, I’m ravenous. Maybe it was my mad dash through the woods last night, or my brush with death, but I’m suddenly noticing a massive void in my stomach that needs urgent filling.

I open my mouth to ask if I can help myself to some food, but Marigold beats me to it.

“You’ve got another thing coming if you think I’ll let you run around like a wild thing,” Marigold states. She steeples her fingers in front of her, for all the world like a female version of Mr. Burns from the Simpsons. “You will obey my rules, or you will face the consequences.”

“Yes, gra—Marigold.”

“Rule number one.” Marigold holds up a finger. “You will maintain a B-average in all your classes while you’re living with me.”

I give her a thumbs-up. Academics was never an issue for me. Both my parents were smart, and I’m like them squared, so…

I point at the silver chafing dish. “Can I?” I stand, and drag my plate over the table. “You know, while you lay down the law.”

Marigold’s mouth tightens. “Rule two. You will be at school on time every morning. You will be home by latest five in the afternoon, unless you have extra-curricular activities.”

“That all one rule, or are we doing like rule two point one, two point two…?”

When I lift the dish’s lid, heavenly steam hits me in the face. I begin heaping greasy things onto my plate, listening to Marigold’s droning with half an ear.

“Rule three. Your homework will always be completed in time. I don’t own a television, so there will be no excuse.”

I’m gonna make me a sandwich of epic proportions. Two slices of toast — nay, three! — and as many layers of fried egg, bacon, and onion as I can pile on top without it collapsing under its own weight.

“…will be in bed and asleep by nine o’clock—”

“So no one’s told you about my insomnia?” I turn, piled plate held between me and Marigold like a shield.

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