Page 36 of Knot Shattered
Odette blinked, a flush blooming across her cheeks, before she smiled, shy and excited all at once. She set the rag down beside the marble with surprising care, then turned back to me, fingers curling slightly at her sides like she was trying not to bounce.
“Of course,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “What did you have in mind?”
I let a small smile tug at my mouth. My heart beat a little harder at the way she looked at me, like she was giving me the benefit of the doubt, and the rest of the world could go to hell.
“I figured I’d let you smash a few things.”
She tilted her head, intrigued.
“There’s a rage room in the city,” I said. “They give you a baseball bat and let you destroy glass, plates, mannequins, office furniture… whatever you want.”
Odette’s eyes lit up like sunrise over broken glass.
“I get to hit stuff with a bat?”
“You get toobliteratestuff with a bat. Or any other weapon you want short of a gun.”
She grinned, practically glowing. “Micha, that might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Behind her, Henry let out a rare snort. “That’s my girl.”
I gave him a look. “She’ll be home in one piece.”
He crossed his arms. “If not, I’m breakingyouin the rage room.”
Odette laughed, walking toward me with that swing in her hips she didn’t realize she had. “Let me change real quick.”
I stepped aside to let her pass, and as she disappeared up the stairs to her apartment, I looked around her studio again. Her sculptures lined the walls—half-finished women in various stages of rising or breaking. Power in their posture, agony in the curves of their mouths. It was raw and beautiful. She was raw and beautiful.
“Be gentle with her,” Henry said quietly, once we were alone.
I looked him in the eye, my voice low and certain. “Always.”
Odette’s footsteps echoed on the stairs, and I turned just as she appeared—cleaner now, hair in a messy bun, a soft tank tucked into jeans, and her beat-up boots.
She came right up to me, her eyes bright. “Let’s go break shit.”
I offered my arm. “My kind of woman.”
***
The building didn’t look like much—gray cement, heavy doors, minimal signage—but I could already feel the faint thrum of anticipation from her as we stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of paint, rubber, and the ghost of things that had been broken beyond repair.
Perfect.
The attendant was a bored-looking beta with a clipboard and neon pink eyebrows who didn’t blink twice when I asked for the premium room.’
Once we were suited up in those weird biohazard-looking suits and safety glasses, we stepped into the room. The door slammed behind us with a metallic thud that echoed into the vast space.
The room was full of destruction waiting to happen. Ceramic plates are stacked like a buffet, mannequins are positioned in stiff rows, and glass bottles are lined up on a shelf like obedient soldiers. There was a baseball bat in the corner and a crowbar on the table.
Odette crossed the room slowly, the bat swinging from her hand as she walked. She ran her fingers across the head of one of the mannequins, her mouth tightening.
“You don’t have to talk,” I said gently. “But I’m here if you want to.”
She didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, the air stretching thin around her.
Then, softly: “When I was in that basement… I remember the sound my chains made when I moved. It echoed like this room does. I thought I was going to die there. Not just from them. From being helpless. From only having my mind as company.”
