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I’ve never had a muse before, but I know better than to let her escape now that she’s here.
A father’s anger never leaves you. It molds and shapes with its heat and volume for the rest of your life.
“I’m not smitten.” I’m fucking obsessed.
“I’ve increased my price.”
He smiles—smiles. “Good. You’re worth far more than a hundred grand.”
“The universe created you with me in mind,” he says in a low, thick voice. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were sent by the stars themselves. Plucked from the constellations and tossed into the path of someone needing guidance.”
Turns out, just because he respects your boundaries for a while and seems nice on the outside doesn’t really mean much. He’s really just planning to murder you.
“On second thought, I don’t care. I’m gonna come inside my dirty girl’s sweet pussy, and I hope you get pregnant. Let Nathaniel try to claim you again when you’ve got my baby in your belly. I’d peel the skin from his bones and use them as toothpicks.”
Ay, dios mío, papí😮💨😮💨
“Give me one more.”
I shake my head, still practically vibrating from the last. A delicate ache appears between my legs, and I try to move away, but he comes with me.
“I ca...
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“You can, and you will.” He presses harder, and I feel that pulse in my throat. “O...
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“Oh.” I walk over, standing just out of reach if he were to try to grab me. “Well, just pretend I’m not here.”
He chuckles, swiveling on the bench seat. His legs stretch the fabric of his dark cigarette pants, and he leans forward, tugging the blanket from me. “You are a beacon of light, Little Echo. You shine in any room. I would never be able to not notice.”
Sighing, I clench my jaw at the memory and toss the washcloth into a hamper behind me. “The goat I had gone looking for stayed through it all. When I was in so much pain that I couldn’t see, after my father left me, the only thing that kept me conscious was the little goat’s warm tongue on my face. That’s how I held on.”
The entire mattress is covered in decapitated sunflowers. One thousand six hundred eighty of them, to be precise—for each hour I’ve spent trying unsuccessfully to rid my thoughts of her existence. They’re piled a foot high and spill over onto the floor on the other side of the bed—a symbolic sea of the sort of suffering I’m willing to endure just to see a smile light her face.
“Want me to kill him?”
Swearing under my breath, I end the call and scan the curb outside for Janus or Arsen, coming up empty. At their absence, I make a mental note to fire them later.
You’re going to do more than fire them, papí. You’re going to *kill* them. Well, at least Janus💁🏼♀️
“If she’s dead, burn the mansion down with me in it. I am not interested in a life without the sun.”
