Page 40 of Pretty Monster

Shit. I’m in trouble here. I can’t say I’ve ever wished to have a ghost living in my apartment, but a ghost seems so much better than the alternative.

Not wanting to spend a single minute longer than necessary in this apartment, I rush through a shower and scramble to get ready for work. Today’s my first day back at High Voltage Ink, and honestly, I’m not sure if I can handle walking through the doors. I haven’t been back there since the day it all went down.

The cops kept the shop locked up for a few days while they investigated, and by the end of the week, they’d done everything they needed and allowed Big Jim access to clean the place up. I can’t imagine how hard that would have been. I didn’t see what state the shop was left in after the cops were done, and I can only assume all the blood had already been scrubbed clean, but it still would have been hell for Big Jim. Crew was like a son to him, just as I’m the daughter he never had.

Big Jim canceled all of our appointments for the weekend, giving everyone time to grieve, and now, Monday morning, I’m supposed to head back to High Voltage Ink and get on with life as though there isn’t a big chunk of it missing.

Heading out the door, my gaze shifts toward Alex’s. He usually makes an effort to come out and say hi when he hears me walking out, but knowing that my station at work is going to be a mess and I’ll need the extra time to go over my schedule and fit in some of Crew’s more important clients, I’m leaving a little early today. I wouldn’t be surprised if Alex was still out in the streets, working out and putting on a dazzling show for the women of Brooklyn.

He’s been giving me space over the past week, trying not to crowd me as I grieve for my lost friend, but for the most part, he can’t resist checking on me at least twice a day. He hasn’t kissed me again, and while I desperately crave to find out what else Alex has been holding back, I also respect his self-control.

I haven’t been in the right frame of mind to start something new, and as if sensing that, Alex has backed off, just doing what he can to offer me comfort when I need it. But that doesn’t mean he’s dared to move the mistletoe monster cock. That’s still hanging proudly above my door like some kind of trophy. Not gonna lie, I kind of wish I had gotten the chance to clean it before he went and stuck it up there, but it is what it is, and I’m just going to have to learn to live with it.

The walk to work goes by all too quickly, and before I know it, I’m standing outside High Voltage Ink, holding my breath. I’m worried that walking inside those doors will send me into a tailspin, but seeing Big Jim through the windows all alone, I suck it up and push through the door.

Jim’s head lifts as he hears the chime above the door, and he stretches a forced smile across his face. “Hey, Ky. How’re you doing?” he says, stepping out from his station and opening his arms just in time for me to step right into them.

I shrug my shoulders, not really sure how to respond. “I’m . . . I don’t know. Fine, I guess.”

“That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard,” he mutters as my gaze slowly moves around the room, expecting to see little drops of blood that have accidentally been forgotten. “How are you really doing?”

I swallow hard, pulling out of his arms and moving to my station before dumping my bag onto my chair. “I just . . . I don’t know how to feel. I have so much guilt for being this angry with him, and it’s so selfish. I should be focusing on how much I miss him, and I do miss him. I miss him so much. Since the day I met him, I haven’t gone a week without hearing from him or getting some ridiculous text, and yet every time I think about him, all I can remember is the way his fist felt cracking against my jaw.”

“You’re only human, Ky,” he tells me. “It’s not selfish, and you sure as fuck shouldn’t feel guilty about it. You did nothing wrong, and no one’s going to hold it against you for being angry. You have every right to feel that way. Crew was one of your closest friends, and he hurt you. Whether we lost him or not, it was still going to take some time for you to be able to move on and learn to trust him again. Hell, even if you decided to never trust him again, that’s okay. That’s your decision. But don’t feel guilty for having a human response. You can love and hate him at the same time.”

I swallow hard and nod, grabbing my schedule and flipping through the pages for a distraction to keep my tears at bay because if I have to keep soaking up Big Jim’s words, I’m surely going to break.

Realizing I need a few moments to myself, Jim nods toward my sketchpad. “Why don’t you put all that emotion into a design?” he says, moving around his station and preparing for his first client of the day. “It’ll give you somewhere to channel all of that bullshit.”

My brows furrow as I glance toward my sketchpad, intrigue building in my chest. I haven’t picked up a pencil all week, too afraid of what kind of designs might come out of me, but Big Jim is right. I need somewhere to channel all of this guilt, and where better to get it out than a design? Perhaps I could do something dedicated to Crew. After all, there’s a blank space on my arm that he never got around to completing.

With my mind set, I quickly sort out my schedule and start making calls, trying to squeeze in as many of Crew’s clients and hating how I have to explain over and over again why I’ll be taking over all of his appointments. Then after making sure everything in my station is exactly where it should be, I focus my attention on my sketchbook.

I start working on a design with angry, harsh lines and quickly get lost in it, hating the darkness that stares back at me. A hooded skull with hollowed-out eyes resembling the grim reaper, its teeth almost fang-like as it reaches out toward me, looking as though it’s trying to pull me under, and as I finish the initial outline of the design, I catch my breath.

It’s haunting, terrifying even, like something out of a nightmare. The design is elegant and yet angry as though you’ll never truly know its real nature, just like Crew. There’s a viciousness about it, and yet it's still so charming.

A hand comes down on my shoulder, and I jump, my eyes going wide. I was so focused on my sketch that I didn’t hear anyone behind me. “How are you doing, Ky?” Big Jim asks, glancing over my shoulder at my design, his eyes widening in surprise, though I can’t quite work out why. I usually spend hours a week making designs that are just as haunting as this. “Your first client’s here.”

“What?” I mutter, whipping around to see Aaron, one of my regulars, waiting by the reception desk. “Shit. Sorry. I was so lost in my own world, I didn’t hear the bell.”

“All good. He only just got here,” Big Jim says as I hastily pack away my sketchbook and glance over my station before deciding to do a quick sanitize despite doing one just after I walked in. But hell, one can never be too clean, right?

Jim keeps an eye on me as I hurry around my station, his gaze narrowed.

“You’re staring,” I point out.

“I think you should use that piece to finish out your sleeve,” he tells me, leaning back against his table, crossing a foot over the other as casually as ever, as though completely unaware of how his words have sent me into a blind panic. Though they shouldn’t. This is just a normal conversation between us. He couldn’t possibly know how I had to dive into the darkest pits of my soul to capture the perfect essence of Crew Ledger in that design, and now he thinks I should wear it on my arm like some kind of badge of honor, representing the man who almost crushed my jaw.

Shit.

“I don’t know,” I mutter, turning away, fearing he might see the panic flashing in my gaze as Aaron makes his way back to my station.

“Just say the word and I’ll clear my schedule,” Big Jim says.

I flash Jim a tight smile. “I, uhhh . . . yeah. I’ll let you know,” I tell him before turning my attention on Aaron and putting an end to the discussion. “Long time no see,” I say to Aaron. “I hope you’re ready. We’re in for a long one today.”

With that, Aaron holds up a set of headphones as a cheesy smile rips across his face. “Oh, I’m ready. Music and all,” he tells me. “I don’t think I’ll survive if I have to listen to the shit Big Jim calls music for the next three hours.”

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