Page 41 of His Innocent Muse

I swallow around a thick lump. I can’t be that far gone. Can I? I scan the room, gaze landing on the kitchen. Eggs. Yes, I cooked eggs for both of us. I stalk toward the fridge and yank it open, speaking as I do. “If you’re hiding, I need you to…”

One plate. There’s only—did I cook for just me?

Dizziness creeps in as I spin again, running toward the bathroom. There has to be proof in here. Only, it’s bone dry, everything exactly as it always is after Eustice applies her borderline obsessive brand of organizing.

I rake my hands through my hair with a whimper and stumble backward. Did I imagine the whole thing? Was she, was everything, just a sleep-deprived hallucination? I can’t have been the only one who—Mayhem!

“Get it the fuck together, Ghost,” I sneer, jerking my phone out.

Obviously, he’ll tell me what I need to hear, and I can yell at him for taking so fucking long bringing my girl home.

But he never answers. In fact, it doesn’t even go to voicemail, just a weird clicking sound, then more silence.

I swallow and call again, met with the same end.

Chewing my lip, I call Murder. Straight to voicemail.

“Goddammit, why do I pay for these fucking phones if no one ever answers them!?”

The elevator dings, sending a surge through my whole body. Finally!

I run toward the entrance, nearly kicking my couch in the process. How badly will she be hurt? Will she—

“If you aren’t on fire, you better have a good reason for scaring me so bad.”

Not Lucy. Eustice.

She exits the elevator, clutching a bundle and stops cold, bemused expression morphing into that concern I can’t stand.

All of my air leaves on a harsh breath, my heart thudding slower and slower, despite how hard I claw at it.

“No. She’s real.” I stare at Eustice’s hands, not seeing anything but my own pulse, squeezing and expanding.

“The…laundry?” She rattles the bundle, eying me. “Damn right she’s real, and she was in my chair like we don’t have an established rout—where are you going?!”

“She was here!”

I run to the couch, flipping my pillows over like I expect her to appear.

“Ghost, take a breath, hon.” Eustice is right behind me no matter where I go, righting everything I destroy in my hunt for Lucy.

“Been a long time since…when did you sleep last?”

I sneer, more angry than I should be, but I absolutely hate the placating tones, the small voices, the hushed corner conversations. Bridget’s death was one of the hardest things I’d ever been through, and once the pain of my failure stopped, I became dangerously numb. But this is far and away not that.

“Fuck you,” I bark, but it’s such a deranged sound, it stops me cold. I straighten and face her corked eyebrow and crossed arms.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She smiles, slow and cautious, sending anger through me again. I wince and rub my eyes with one hand, fighting to breathe.

“If I’d known bringing your dirty laundry back would upset you, I’d have waited until it wasn’t three AM.”

“I didn’t leave any laundry for you, Eustice,” I say on a long, graveled exhale, squeezing my eyes tighter until white pressure spots start to form.

I’m just this side of breaking down into tears over an imaginary girl. I don’t need sleep, I need help.

“You don’t think I recognize your favorite green shirt with the hole you refuse to let me fix? I’m not senile, yet.”

---