Page 22 of His Innocent Muse

“Why would that matter? Do you…honestly think that’s why I took you in? Because I hoped I’d be the one to destroy something so precious? I’m a monster, Lucy, yes, but I’m not a fucking degenerate.” She reaches for me, but I snatch clear, stepping back. “There’s food on the counter. Eat it. Eat whenever you’re hungry. This is your home. Use it. If you have questions, the phone goes directly to Eustice.”

“No,” she cries, tears forming, “I didn’t—wait, wait!”

I’m already in the living room when her sob hits my ears. I nearly stop, but it’s too precarious. She’s too young, she’s too perfect, and she can already slice me wide open with a word, which is un-fucking-acceptable.

I swore. I swore to myself this would never happen again.

“Ghost, please don’t leave me—uh, here. Up here.”

I turn to find her wrapped in my towel, wiping her tears, trying to be strong because she thinks that’s what I want.

No, little firefly, I want you shattered, weak, and on your knees.

I grind my teeth in a snarl, spinning away from her so fast I get dizzy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t really think that. I don’t know why I…no. I said it because I wish I was. I wish it was y—”

“Don’t.” I storm to the elevator, my heart in my throat. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. Go get dressed before you get sick.”

I punch the call button with the side of my fist, but I can’t stand here and wait. I can’t. One more second will end us both.

Swift strides take me to the stair door and I yank it open. It hits the opposite wall, reverberating, and slams behind me with an obnoxiously loud crash.

I take the glossy stairs two at a time, and I’m at ground level in mere seconds, throwing my weight into the door. It swings open with far too little resistance, and I nearly run face first into Mayhem.

“Woah, where’s the fire?”

He stumbles back, clearing my way, and I side step, bracing on my knees. Early sunlight streams through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor, morning joggers breaking the beams as they pass. Familiar smells are already rolling in. The city is just waking up, but none of it is comforting, not like it usually is. My breaths are too deep and not deep enough. Lucy fucking Parker. The fact I can picture us together so clearly is an assault on my soul. I can’t feel things for her. I can’t feel things at all. It only leads to people I care about dying.

“Boss, you gonna be sick?”

“No.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes.”

I straighten with a snap, that crazed laugh escaping again. Mayhem’s eyes widen slowly, and the concern I see yet again grates on my nerves.

“I’m already sick. I need…I need to work.” My fingers itch, fists clenching, and I storm past him to the gallery door. Zalia will be here soon to go over her ropes for tonight. I have new patterns to try, and I cannot let my thoughts rest on the brilliant light upstairs.

5

LUCY

Chuck was right.

The slamming door is louder than a gunshot, the elevator dinging open before the echo settles like a blanket of cold over me. I can't even count the extra seconds it took for the doors to open from Ghost escaping down the stairwell, but even a miniscule time was too much to be around me now. Now that he knows, without a doubt, that I’m damaged goods.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. It didn't work when he was here and I know he can't hear it now. But it's all I can think to do. "I'm so sorry, Ghost. I'm sorry."

Chuck made me promise to never tell anyone they weren't my first, or my only. I really didn't put much weight to it—he was an absolute creep and nothing but cruel. I never wanted to live up to his standards. It kept me alive, and fed, when I was good. So I let him lie and I never corrected him, ever, even when men who'd already had me were in the room.

No one will want you if they know. No one wants a used cumrag on their hands.

It was six months before he gave me to the first guy. It was a similar situation to Ghost, now that I think about it. Got himself in debt with a friend and sent the man to my room...didn't even warn me what was about to happen. Wouldn't talk to me for days after.

It's the nicest he'd ever been.

It became a habit after that, and he went back to his usual self. I owed him, so he said. He always made out like I should be grateful he let me eat and sleep in his house, even though he stole me from my home and forced me to live where I never wanted.

I really, truly didn't think real men cared.

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