Page 9

(Present)

This job is easier than I thought, and the customers love me.

Seriously, my waistband, boots and pockets are stuffed with tips I received from small minded men and woman who thought they were subtle in their eye fucks here and wondering hands there. They were just lucky I wasn’t having an off day, at which point I would have cut off their traveling limbs.

Besides, I made a promise to Blithe, so I need this job if I'm to do it.

Creek is here because of course he is, the handsome flower. They should call him the devil instead of me. What, with his lingering looks and curiosity. He also gets impossibly close to me in passing. Or rather I get impossibly close to him and then swell with delight when it pisses him off.

For example, when he needs to access the area next to me-to get beer on tap-his skin brushes against mine. It's intentional, I'm sure of it. I'm also sure that beer is the only thing his tiny brain is capable of comprehending besides touching me because the customers are beginning to complain.

That’s why I'm on my way over to him now.

Creek spots me before I get there and turns to rest his hip against the bar. His eyes are narrowed as I approach. I don’t stop my ascend until I'm up next to him nice and personal. My back rests against the bar and my shoulder leans into his chest. When he tries to step back, my hand snakes out and snatches his shirt to yank him back where I want him.

His eyes flare with surprise before he masks it, the transparent flower. My strength always surprises others. People consider me to be fragile and delicate like glass, but my crystals cut if you aren’t vigilant. Creek will learn soon enough.

This position puts our faces sooooo close. When I look up at his I can feel his breath mixing with mine and it momentarily makes my brain pop out.

Perhaps it's the way his nostrils flare with anger or how his muscles go rigid that has me scooting a tad bit closer until I can't possibly go any further. Or maybe it's the way I've played our interaction from two nights ago on a constant loop in my head like a melody I’d damage my eardrums with.

When I have his attention like this, butterflies encircle me. I'm pretty sure they’re making babies in my stomach. It's so exciting because I've never felt this way before. Or maybe I'm just off my rocker because of the accident and I'm losing it. Either way, when he looks at me with such intensity, I forget why I want to end my existence, if only for a moment. And I'm going to chase that feeling until my legs fall off.

“What do you need Harlyn?”

His teeth are clenched, a ball of wrath this one.

“I just came over to let you know that you’re fired, Flower.”

His brows furrow in confusion, and I can't help it, my fingers raise and smooth out the wrinkle. His skin is warm and soft against my cold hands; does this man think he actually intimidates anyone? I wonder what that tan skin would feel like against my lips and beneath my tongue.

The thought pools arousal in my gut and I retreat immediately. This was supposed to be all fun and games, but I have never had such thoughts before, and it confuses as much as it intrigues me.

When he caged me in like an animal that night, I expected to feel trapped, and flay my flesh from their bones. Imagine my surprise when it was the complete opposite. He kissed me, like a real kiss. Someone kissed me and it was wholly pleasant, I savored it like my last breath. It's as if I was able to forget who I was for a moment and let him use me to provide the both of us pleasure. The contact made me come like nobody’s business which was embarrassing to say the least and made it look like I'm some sort of virgin.

I am.

It’s irrelevant now, as he hasn’t spoken to me since then, and is clearly all about forgetting the occasion ever happened. Which I'm okay with if that’s what he desires. Maybe I was unenjoyable, and all I’m good for is to sit still, look pretty and shut the fuck up like mom always said.

I flinch at the unwelcome reminder that she ever existed, and push that thought far out of reach.

I'm only capable of taking two steps back before he surprises me by grabbing the back of my neck and tugging me away from the bar. The skin-to-skin contact is bliss.

I allow him to manhandle me into the crew locker room/ break area. He lets me go with a small shove when the door clicks shut and I spin around to face him. Only I'm truly unprepared for the words that leave his mouth. They ping pong in my skull, and I know before he finishes his sentence that I'm withdrawing.

“So... We met an interesting potential business partner. His men had the same mark on their necks like you do. Marcus was it?”

When that vile name leaves a set of sinfully pretty lips like venom, I'm fucking done for.

My nose tingles and my eyes water. My jaw aches, itching for something to bite. Hands begin to tremble; my bones try to lock.

I'm back in that conference room with red coating my vision. I’m not there and I know it. This isn’t happening to me again because it can't be done twice, but you couldn’t make my brain comprehend that even If you tried because I see it clear as day. There's blood everywhere and I'm frozen. The room growing smaller and smaller and I'm fucking screaming, I can't stop fucking screaming. I'm ruined, shattered, broken beyond recognition or repair.

“Stop it.”

I pop myself on the side of the head to knock the images out, that threaten to pull me under... It doesn't work.

Fuck.

“Stop it!”

I try harder. I’m punching the side of my head, my face, pulling at my hair to remind myself that I'm here, not there. And it doesn't work.

My throat aches because I'm screaming something feral now while my head makes friends with the lockers, trying to beat the memory out.

“STOP IT!”

I'm vaguely aware of Creeks presence. He’s pulling on my arms, trying to take control, but he can't.

My face is soaked. Bright red blood gushes out from the damage I've caused. All it serves to do is remind me of that wretched day and I wail. The tears pour like an open dam, and I wish I could choke on them.

That revolting fucking name. I wish to whatever higher power that I could run into that motherfucker. He probably has nightmares of my face and wakes up covered in piss, the fucking coward. He knows it's game over when I see him because I'll eat his fucking face off, then rip him apart with my teeth. The new imagery tips me over a manic edge, and I laugh myself into lunacy when I picture him thrashing on the ground and gaping like fish.

An arm snakes around my neck and applies steady pressure that has me seeing stars and I fucking laugh.

Another flash of that day invades me, and I see myself splattered in blood while a room full of people stand by and watch as my entire existence shattered, and I crumbled. All I saw was red and all I lived for was rage. Then there was the cowards who tried to escape me before I bathed in their screams.

The arm around my throat squeezes tighter making my breath grow shallow until all light goes out.