Page 156 of Ink Deep Devotion

“You will be when I’m done with you.”

I kick the backpack, sliding it under her kitchen island.“It’s not broken, so why change it?”

“Life is too short to suffer in a bad fashion.” She pats down her skirt, spattered with a few oil stains and flour, as if she were preparing to walk down a runway.

The days go by fast, and our morning rush ebbs and flows. The Americans come first since they are eager to go into the city. Then the Italians come in leisurely, actually enjoying the taste ofthe food and drink. Nonnina’s cafe is only open for breakfast, so I get the rest of the day free.

That worries me because I have time to think.

???

I slide off my shoes and walk down to my spot on the beach, sinking my toes into the turquoise waters and finally exhaling when I look at the lush green trees that surround me. Using my backpack as a pillow, I lean against it and curl my knees into my chest.

I’m not proud of what I did. I wanted to hurt Dash. I did.

I discovered something about myself. Blaze was correct when he said some monsters should remain hidden.

I’m capable of being a monster, of inflicting pain and heartbreak. I never wanted to be this way. Ironically, it started when I felt lonely years ago in high school; I was so numb I needed to feel, so I thought I could when I pushed a needle into my skin. Then Dash came, and he replaced the needle, then Dom, Dash again, and now…there is no needle.

No distraction.

If I want to feel and find control, it’s all in the power of my hands. For the first time in my life, I’m truly alone and in control. It might last only one more minute. As soon as I opened the door, Dash could be standing outside. Or, a week from now, when I walk into work, he could be standing at the table waiting for me. Or maybe it will last an eternity.

That seems the most painful.

Deep down, I want him to find me, crawl on his knees, and either denounce his love for me or shout it at the world.

Deep down, I’m not ready to be found yet. When I met Dash, I was so broken. He picked me up and made me stronger. I want to use that power for good. I want to do something memorable with my life and not just be called a daughter or wife.

I want to help. God, I want to be strong and not fear what I will have to do to help those I love.

Dash, Titan, Damian, and even Nova have killed and will kill to save me. I want to be strong enough not to fear the nightmares. I want to be able to save myself and not rely on others.

I want to be like Avery; fuck, maybe I want to be as sinister as Nova. I want to help others like me because not every monster chasing the other girls is like Dash. Some are purely demonic souls trapped in flesh, bound in bone, dead set on making others suffer.

???

Do you know what was easy about performing? I didn’t have to think or worry. I just did as I was told.

Stop shaking!I mentally shout at my hand as I grab the doorknob. Bright lights and white walls contrast the night outside. The shuffling of paper and pencils makes my shoulders drop an inch.

I try to clear my throat, failing.Great, now I sound sick.No one is going to want to sit next to me.

Red lips pull into a cordial smile that makes my inside feel jealous. Is every woman a model here? Tall, curvy, fashionablydressed, and that hair…it’s so thick and shiny. I reach up and touch my own. Does she rub olive oil in it?

“Buonasera.” The art instructor grins as she spots me. She’s talking to another woman in a robe, our model for the evening.

I repeat the phrase, but it’s clear I’m not Italian.

“American?” Her thick yet beautifully groomed brow raises.

I nod and tuck my hair back behind my ear, forgetting that it’s much shorter now and often falls back into my face. Avery didn’t tell me I had to change my appearance, but as soon as I showered in my new apartment, I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut off six inches. I cried after because I had to cut off another inch to make it even. I’m now the proud owner of a shoulder-length bob. It’s growing on me; I can’t tie it back to my old state of comfort, my ballerina bun. That’s a good thing. Change is good.

“My name is Camilla.” She offers as she continues to speak to me in English.

“I’m Mila.” I’m thankful I didn’t have to change my first name when I became a new person.

“Student?”

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