Page 48 of He Should Be Mine
The air is fresh out here, though. Well, as fresh as inner city London gets. The roar of the traffic below is strangely soothing. The view isn’t that great, mostly the side of another tall, featureless, soulless, mostly glass, apartment block. But at least it’s not the same walls of inside the apartment. I’m getting to know those so well I swear I could draw them in my sleep.
I breathe in deeply and let it out. Maybe I should go get my cigarettes. Defeats the purpose of fresh air, but smoking definitely helps clear my head.
However, now I’m out here, I don’t want to move just yet. I’m not ready to go back inside. To be back in the place where I hurt Molly.
I don’t want him to change. He is wonderful, I wasn’t lying. He is brave and bright and dazzling and he doesn’t allow anyone to dim his light. I wish I could be like him.
But I do long to win his trust. I want him to be able to put aside his walls when he is with me. He can be dazzling without using his words and actions as daggers. I think.
A dry, humorless chuckle bubbles out of me. I thought I had solved the puzzle that is Molly. I thought admitting I want him was the end of the riddle. Apparently not.
I shift position. Then I freeze. Molly’s blinds are open. I never realized before that I could see into his room from this balcony. The other times I’ve been out here, hisblinds must have been shut, turning it into an anonymous window.
But he keeps his blinds open now. A defense against getting trapped in the dark. So now I can see. See his room. See his bed. See Molly lying on it hugging some toy close to his chest.
Molly’s eyes are closed. Scrunched up as if he is trying not to cry. Or maybe he is crying. I wouldn’t be able to see his tears from here.
My heart aches. If only I could comfort him. Even though comfort is not part of my skill set. I can kill anyone who upsets him, I can keep him in luxury, but comfort is an unknown thing. And I can’t even kill anyone today, since I’m the one who has wounded him.
Bitter bile burns my throat. Soon Riccardo is going to visit and hurt Molly some more. And I won’t be able to kill him. Not yet.
I turn quickly and step back inside. Molly deserves his privacy. Right now, it’s the only thing that is in my power to give him.
But this is just a temporary weakness. In the future, I am going to give Molly the world.
Chapter thirteen
Molly
The front door of the apartment shuts. Rick has left. My eyes snap open. I no longer need to pretend to be asleep. Men always like to think they’ve fucked you so well that you can’t stay awake. Rick especially likes it.
Besides, it’s a nice way out. A quick escape. No need to plaster on a fake smile and give fake compliments.
I sit up in the bed. My body protests a little, but Rick wasn’t overly rough. Not this time.
My new fairy lights shift from blue to red and it’s like my room has been suddenly splashed with blood. It’s a gruesome effect, but I’m sure it’s not a sign. LEDs do not have the power of premonition.
I shudder and get out of bed. It’s super late, but I need to shower. Vigorously. With a whole bottle of my new fancy peach body wash.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. It’s getting harder and harder to do my job. I used to enjoy watching men go feral with lust. Having them worship my body was a kick. There was satisfaction in being wanted.
Now… Now I don’t think I like it anymore.
Fuck. I hope I’m not getting old. That would be terrible. I doubt it is the knowledge that Dario can hear everything. I’m hardly shy, or a prude. Dario listening shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, but even so, I don’t think it is the cause of my problems.
Hopefully, it is simply that Rick is a douchebag, and once I’m free of him, I’ll be fine.
That’s if I ever get free of him. He pays me well, but I’m not stupid enough to think I can quit. I don’t get to leave until he says so.
I yank open the shower door and step inside. How the fuck did I get tangled up with the mafia? Jesus Christ, talk about being a walking disaster. I don’t think anyone who has ever met me would be at all surprised that I’ve got myself into this mess.
I probably tempted fate by letting people call me Molly and then allowing it to stick. It made me destined to be a gangster’s moll. Or perhaps people calling me Molly was the universe’s way of giving me a warning, a heads up. And I ignored it.
Belonging to Rick was terribly exciting at first. I’ve known dangerous, violent assholes my whole life, but mafia? That’s classy. It’s the executive class of the criminal world. It felt like I had made it in life. Like it was my big breakthrough.
Now the glitz is wearing off. The illusion is fading. I’m learning that assholes with money are still assholes. They aren’t better. Or kinder. Except for Dario. But that’s irrelevant. I don’t belong to Dario, I belong to Rick.
A blast of cold water hits me, forcing a gasp from my lungs. Fuck, that’s cold. I love the buzz from it though, it makes me feel alive. It’s grounding as well as invigorating.
