Page 50 of Selling Innocence

I really am an asshole, aren’t I?

The graphite came closer to the canvas, but the shaking in my hand worsened. Still, I forced myself. Maybe this time it would be different. Maybe this time, I could do it, I could create something, I could find my old self.

In my brain, I saw Kenz, her sweet smile, her dark eyes, the shy way she’d glance to the side and avoid my glance, especially when that cute pink flush colored her cheeks. I moved the pencil against the bumpy surface of the canvas as I drew the line of her eye, trying to stay light, the image so strong in my head that it already felt alive.

I pulled the pencil away and stepped backward to survey my work.

A messy almond shape sat there, in the middle of all that white, the line jagged and dark. It looked like a toddler had drawn it.

I pressed my lips together, anger and loss mixing together until they overwhelmed me and I yanked the canvas off the easel. The wood frame broke when it hit the floor, the corner coming apart, but that wasn’t enough for me. I set one foot on the bottom, grasped the top edge and pulled.

The canvas tore, and I didn’t stop until nothing but strips of white littered the floor.

Even with the voodoo doll of my anger in pieces, the fire in my chest didn’t diminish.

My gaze found a bottle of scotch on the dresser, one my manager had sent me a year ago in celebration of an exhibit that had gotten me in a spot in a prestigious art magazine. I’d never opened the bottle, feeling like it was one big joke.

But right now? The idea of numbing this anger sounded like a fantastic use of the alcohol.

I tucked the bottle beneath one arm and used my left hand to rip off the foil cover, then pulled the cork from the top.

Fuck glasses.

Glasses were for people who planned to only have a little, and I needed the whole damned bottle to drown the feelings inside me. I grasped the bottle by the neck, tipped it up and savored the burn as I gulped.

Fuck it all.

* * * *

Kenz

The seat at the table where Vance usually sat remained empty. Everyone else had eaten, but Vance never showed.

I took the empty dishes into the kitchen, stacking them beside the sink despite Hayden’s complaints. He didn’t care for me chipping in with the housework, always telling me not to worry about it.

His footsteps echoed into the kitchen behind me. “I can handle that.”

“I don’t mind it.”

“We didn’t bring you here to turn you into our housekeeper.” His tone came out clipped, as though me helping actually offended him.

“I’m living here, aren’t I? I might as well help. I’m not as useless as you seem to think.”

“I never said you were useless,” Hayden said on a sigh. “I just know you’re in a hard place right now. You had a lot of things happen—none of them your fault—so the last thing I want is for you to feel like you need to be taking care of us. I mean, if anything, we put you in this position. I’d rather you focus on your schoolwork or something for you.”

I laughed at the way he spoke, his tone sulky. “You’re a lot nicer than I would have thought.” I rinsed the dishes before I loaded them into the dishwasher, the motions automatic. I’d gotten pretty good at this, at least, over my time living alone.

“You’d be the only person to say that.”

I glanced over my shoulder to find Hayden with his arms crossed, staring at me. He wore a basic black long-sleeve shirt, the front a V with buttons that showed a bit of his chest. He was rather handsome.

The thought hit me so fast that I wondered how I hadn’t noticed before.

Because finding your abductors good-looking is a stupid cliché that signals serious mental issues.

I laughed at my own thought and shook my head, bringing my focus back to my work. “You are, though. You always look after me and worry about me.”

“That’s my job,” he reminded me.

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