CHAPTER 20
The rain had slowed to a lazy drizzle by the time I left the café, but it did nothing to wash the thoughts clawing their way through my head. Mum snaked her arms around me, pulling me in quicker than I could escape, a clear indication of her endless guilt.
Deep down, I wanted her to feel it. To feel all the years of destruction she played a part in. I think she already knew that forgiveness wasn’t on the table, as I pulled back, giving her a tight smile.
The closer I got to the flat, the louder my thoughts rang out. Would Misift still be there, ready to give me shit for leaving in my condition? I paused for a moment outside the door, listening for any sign of movement. But nothing. My brow furrowed as I opened the door, stepping inside.
“Misfit?” I called out, a part of me hoping to hear her footsteps on the hard floor.
It was quiet, no music, no sarcastic remarks hurled across the room.
The flat was empty. I walked to the bedroom, scanning the room.
The blanket she’d used last night was still messily thrown across the bed.
Her coat, gone. No trace left behind but the same note I’d left her, now placed on the bedside table, my shoulders dropping as the silence settled in around me.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, as I retrieved it, I gingerly sat on the edge of the bed—the springs groaning under my weight, just like my ribs. Illuminating the screen, I smiled as I saw Misfit’s text.
“Don’t die dumbass, M”
Of course she’d leave. Misfit was a wildfire.
You can't contain someone like her, especially not with sleep-soft vulnerability. Still, I looked at the empty spot beside me, where she’d been the night before.
I told myself it was fine; I’d seen people go before.
Hell, I’d left people myself, but that didn’t stop the bitterness from crawling up the back of my throat.
Days passed like sludge. Time didn’t move so much as drag its feet, and I let it. My body was healing slowly and spitefully. The fire in my ribs still lit up if I moved too fast.
The heat of the shower was the only place I could stand the ache which lingered.
Steam soon filled the small space, fogging the mirror as hot water poured over my damaged body.
It hit each bruise—shoulder, ribs, the deep ache blooming along my spine—and I hissed through my teeth, fingers curling against the tiles as I rode out the sting.
Pain had become familiar, almost comforting in its honesty.
I would stay there longer than necessary, letting the heat loosen what had seized up inside me, allowing the water to beat against my pale skin until my mind finally slowed.
Stepping out, droplets traced slow paths down my chest, catching in the lines of muscles I’d earned the hard way. Not through vanity, mostly through survival.
I grabbed a towel, dragged it over my hair once, then tied it loose around my hips as I faced the mirror.
A shadow of stubble darkened my jaw, sharp against skin still flushed from the heat.
My face was leaner now—cheekbones more pronounced, my icy blue eyes sunk a fraction too deep.
Faint yellow-purple ghosts were blooming along my ribs, fingerprints staining me of the night Danny decided to remind me who he thought I belonged to.
My hair was still a mess. A deepened red, wild and curling where it pleased, no matter how many times I tried to tame it.
It stuck up at the crown, damp and defiant, like it had a mind of its own.
I leaned closer to the mirror, studying the cut beneath my eye, catching subtle hints of the freckles which once fiercely decorated my cheeks.
The way my mouth sat now—set harder, less willing to soften.
There was something different in my gaze, resolve maybe, or the early stages of something uglier.
I lifted my hand, pressing my palm flat against the cold glass.
My reflection did the same, eyes locked on mine like it was waiting to see which of us would blink first. The steam hadn’t fully cleared; it clung to the edges of the glass, warping my reflection just enough to make it unreliable.
Then my reflection smiled. It was small—barely there—but wrong.
A slow curl at the corner of the mouth, I hadn’t moved.
My breath hitched as I leaned closer, searching my own face for proof I’d imagined it.
I told myself it was the heat. The exhaustion.
The fact that I hadn’t slept properly in days.
The smile faded, replaced by my usual scowl, familiar and solid again.
I stepped back, breaking the connection. The mirror showed only me again—damp hair, battered skin, eyes too tired to keep up with whatever the hell that had been.
Misfit hadn’t come back. Not even a whisper of where she might be. But I still checked my phone too often. Still left the door unlocked more than I should have.
I was halfway through a lukewarm cup of coffee when my phone lit up, a number I hadn’t seen in a while, but I knew it instantly. Selene. I let it ring until the very last second before picking up, jaw tight.
“You alive?” Her voice, teasing and sultry.
“Define alive,” I said, leaning back on the couch. She chuckled.
“Still with the smart mouth, I see. Good. I was getting worried you no longer enjoyed our little meetings.”
She paused for a moment before continuing, “I miss you.” I rolled my eyes and let the silence hang long enough to taste her discomfort. She was a means to an end. If she was catching feelings, then that was her problem, not mine. But she didn’t falter.
“I have a surprise for you,” she added. “Something you’ll like. Thought maybe you’d come see me.” I stared at the wall. I didn’t trust her. Not even close. But curiosity? That was a disease I’d never shaken.
“Fine,” I said, “Be there soon.” Pocketing the phone. I wasn’t doing this for her. But she was a distraction; it had been a fair while since I’d seen her, and money was running low. I grabbed my jacket and left without locking the door, clinging to the notion that she may turn up.
The taxi slowed in front of Selene’s townhouse; I stepped out stiffly, wincing as I adjusted my jacket.
She must have been watching for me as the front door was already open by the time I got there.
An impatient look etched across her face, offering her a half-hearted smile as I approached.
She didn’t say a word, just stepped forward and grabbed the front of my jacket, kissing me forcefully.
It was the kind of kiss that came with claws—hard and deep, all hunger and control.
A hint of wine on her lips, her hands curled into my shirt, pulling me through the door like I was already hers for the taking.
I pushed her back just enough to breathe, just enough to see her eyes flicker in irritation at the break in momentum.
“What’s the surprise?” I asked, mid-breath. My hands stayed on her hips, steady and unmoved. She tilted her head, lips curling into something wicked.
“You’ve got to deliver first.” She leaned in again, running her fingers over my chest, “Earn it.”
I exhaled sharply through my nose, a cocky smirk finding its way onto my face.
“That's how we’re playing it now?” My fingers slid up her spine, slow and sure, until my mouth found the side of her neck.
I felt her breath catch. A wide smile spread on her face as I led her off towards her bedroom—my mouth on her skin and her laughter low in my ear.
The bedroom was dimly lit, curtains drawn tight against the outside world.
Clothes fell away in silence, neither rushed nor gentle.
Only offering a raise of her eyebrow when the remnants of my beating still lingered on my skin.
Our bodies met with a kind of ferocity that didn’t ask for permission.
Her fingers threaded through my hair, tugging me closer to her as I guided her to the bed.
She straddled me, a slow drag of her manicured nails down my chest, ignoring my fading bruises.
Her eyes locked with mine like she was waiting for me to flinch as she ran them over my scar.
I didn’t; instead, I pushed myself up on the bed to meet her gaze, switching our positioning in one fell swoop.
Selene bit down on her lip as my hands traced down her body, gripping her upper thigh as I leaned in, kissing her neck.
Her mouth seeking answers in the heat between us. But I wasn’t giving anything away.
I stared at the ceiling, heart still racing, but Selene was already up and moving, throwing on her silk robe with subtle grace.
She didn’t say much, just gave me a sly glance over her shoulder as she motioned for me to follow.
I dragged my aching body from the sheets, my curiosity piqued, slipping my shirt back on with slow, stiff movements.
We moved through the house in silence; her bare feet padded softly on the tiled floors until she reached the door to the garage and keyed in a code.
The lock hissed open with a mechanical click, the lights flickering on automatically.
There it was. A sleek black car. Matte finish, chrome accents, brand spanking new.
Aggressive, low to the ground. It looked like something out of a film.
I froze, a dull throb building behind my temples.
“You’re kidding,” my eyes locking on the black beast in front of me, “You’re actually fucking kidding.” She stepped past me, bare shoulder brushing mine.
“It’s yours,” she said, voice honeyed. “No strings… well, not many.”
My eyes lingered on the car, unaware my mouth had parted slightly in shock.
“You’re serious?”
She turned toward me with a devilish grin. “You need to be able to get around. See me. Handle business. It’s practical.” She stepped in close, resting her hands on my chest, the silk of her robe brushing my arms.