Pretty Perfect Toy - Angel Payne Page 0,15
from the inside out. The vibrations claiming the ends of my nerves, the pith of my bones, even the molecules of my breaths. The last time I felt something close to this, I held a shovel in my hands, breaking ground on Court Towers.
This is even more unfamiliar ground. And the route is riddled with quicksand.
But I’m determined. Right now, just this once, it’s time for the silos to go. For the first time, one person alone will have access to every single bomb that can destroy me.
One person…who, as it stands right now, will not even be here in four months.
Is that why I’ve even thought about doing this?
No. Plenty of women—people I’ve even dared to called “relationships” before—have come along before this.
This is different.
She is different.
Reassuring…right? Somebody needs to relay that to my bile-filled gut.
One mire at a time, man. One foot in front of the other. And watch the fucking quicksand.
I sure heed that little tidbit—by hitting the top of the stairs with a step made of lead. One more. Great. You’re doing soooo great.
New acid boils up, scorching my throat as I lift my head, already knowing the dark vista that awaits my gaze.
The room is sealed in perpetual gloom but kept meticulously clean, thanks to Prim. It’s still centered by the ornate day bed, covered in that pristine gold brocade, a dozen pillows, and the stuffed animals in shades of cream and white. Nearby, the little chaise with the throw blanket is still positioned next to the reading table with its small stack of books, purchased by me but never read by their recipient. Long ago, during those numb days when I couldn’t move from the floor next to the couch, I committed every one of those spines into bitter memory.
Stop The Insanity: Pills No More
Beating Back the Beast
Serenity in Stillness: An Addict’s Prayers
Quitting and Sticking
Why Can’t I Say No?
Addiction Understood
But nothing in the room diverts from its main attraction.
The wide curve of the turret almost appears to fall away from the building, due to the ripped wallpaper at its edges. The walls were kept like this on my dictate, along with the dried blood smears on the exposed surface beneath.
Lily, stop it. Stop it. You’re bleeding, dammit!
But she didn’t stop.
The center window of the turret, its original pane still broken out except for a few chunks of glass, bears the harrowing proof of that. Forming a seal over the outside of the panel is the Plexiglass cover Hodge mounted from the outside, since I ordered that the original window also remain as-is. The cover is now clouded by dust and spotted with rain. I wish to hell my memories would grow as dull…have surrendered hope they ever will.
Ella sees that too. More vitally, she understands. I see it in every inch of her bearing as she turns from the window back to me. While new questions flow from her eyes, her lips are firm and her bearing straight. Simply from our shared stares, she knows answers are finally going to come.
I just beg God to get me to the end.
“Cassian.”
Her voice breaks on it. My whole jaw clenches, crushing down on my hatred of the sound. I am the subject of nobody’s pity. But as she uses our joined hands to pull me across the room, I let her. When she stops before the chaise then hesitates to sit, I make the decision for us both—by falling to my knees next to it.
“Cassian.”
She utters nothing but a rasp now. I hate and cherish the sound, drawn to it like an orphan to shelter. As soon as she plummets to the chaise, her hands are in my hair and my head is in her lap. I reach up, compelled by forces I cannot control. Grip her by the ribcage, confirming she is real and warm and here. Dark sarcasm sneaks in. Fuck…I’m going to have to tell Kathryn she’s been right all these years. I’ve been living with ghosts too damn long.
But what the fuck to do with them now? I grapple for the answer past the swamp in my head and the boulders in my throat. The only path to clarity seems to lie in holding this woman harder…in breathing in her strength and warmth, wrapped tighter around me in return. The new pressure brings a strange sensation. Amazement. That she can sit here, overflowing with humanity and tenderness even after two insane months in a city that should be named Insanity, shatters my