Page 42 of Partnering with the Artist

My system is failing.

They say you treat a woman you care about the same way you treat your mother.

Idespisemy mother. When she died, I cried. After years and years of doing nothing but calmly smiling,I cried from joy. I laughed. I hugged Viktor. I repeatedthank goodness they’re goneover and over, disregarding entirely what their absence meant for his shoulders.

He pulled the four of us together, sorted our public appearances and the funeral, found Kaleb to invite him back home. He held me in his arms and pleaded forgiveness as he implored me to act, one last time, at the funeral. To not break the illusion of a perfectly sane family now. To not drawthatkind of attention to us when we were already so often put on pedestals in the public eye.

Smiling from joy for the first time in my life, I told him not to worry. I’d do anything for my big brother. Because I knew, when he asked something of me, it came from a place of love.

He wanted us to be family, a real, safe family, and I was desperate for the very same thing.

Seven years I’ve spent healing. Crumbling. Plunging ink into my flesh. Learning how to be a human without a default.

But I’m still nowhere close to stable.

I can’t be coming to care about Maelin in a way I’m not trained for.

That’s not fair to her.

Maybe we can both learn to overcome some of our emotional baggage, together?

She did say that. But she can’t possibly understand.

Unless she can?

Who am I, after all, to weigh the effects of abuse or judge the depth with which different kinds scar a person?

Maybe she understands perfectly the way being treatedunjustly erodes a soul.

Maybe she would be willing to help me figure this nonsense in my brain out,together?

Bright as a blinding sun, she smiles at me. “I’m excited.” When I don’t reply, her smile tames; concerns ripples. “Are you…all right?”

“Hm?” I wet my lips, keeled over on my side, hugging my legs. I’m not sure how I got in this position, but I am sure it’sfine. “Yes. Of course. Why? What’s wrong?”

I might, ever so slightly, be rocking in the fetal position. But. That’s normal.

Probably.

“No…particular reason.”

“Ohh. This?” I clear my throat. “Don’t worry about this.” I am just experiencingfeelings, you know. Perfectly normal things to have. As a human, anyway. It’s just. Well. The part where I am not accustomed tofeelingthem, and all.

“Should I get your brother?” she asks.

“I’m not entirely close with Kaleb. Kyran’s streaming right now. Lukas is on tour. Viktor’s not home.”

For reasons utterly unknown, she assumes this means soothing my meltdown isherproblem. Determination ignites in her beautiful eyes as she marches across the room, sits on the bed, and combs her fingers through my hair. “I’m here to listen. I’m not very good at it, but I can try to do more than just talk.”

Excellent. She can trythat. I’ll try to breathe while she’s touching me with all this foreign, feminine tenderness.

“Are you panicking because I saw your tattoos?” she asks. “I won’t tell anyone.”

She’s not allowed to tell anyone of importance. Matters of the Bachelor brothers within the confines of Sunset are strictly private, by threat of eviction and the total decimation of one’s professional life. Even without an NDA, she can’t tell the press,and I don’t care if her sister knows about my tattoos. Morana won’t care either.

My eyes close. Her fingers comb and comb.

“Is this because you…asked to kiss me?” she begins, soft. “And then you backpedaled. And tried to leave. But I made you stay?”

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