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“For fuck’s sake.”
Trust Luca Fletcher-Lowe to have heated floors and the softest bath mats I’ve ever experienced. My eyes are already closed anyway, and this is as good a place as any to take a moment to rest. The rush of the water filling the bathtub is comfortable white noise, growing more distant as my consciousness slowly ebbs away from me.
I don’t even realise I’ve fallen asleep until a hand taps my cheek. Opening my eyes feels like blinking through mud. When the darkness recedes and my vision clears, I find myself looking up into cold grey eyes.
Grey like a field of snow at dusk, when the warmth of the sun has all but deserted the world. The irises are ringed with darker grey, the sooty shadow of thunderclouds.
Eyes completely devoid of emotion and a face to match.
Except for the smile, which is bone-chillingly tender.
“How’re you feeling, Lynch?” the mocking voice asks.
“Never better,” I croak.
Luca’s laughter is like the running of a blade against vulnerable skin. It makes me want to cringe away from him and curl in on myself like a cleft worm.
I want to tell him to go away, and I want to tell him to rot in hell. In the end, what comes out is a mumbled, “Rot away.”
18
Aberrant Hunger
Luca
To my immense satisfaction,Willow looks so much worse than I left her.
Finding her curled up and asleep on the bathroom floor tastes like victory, so does seeing the rich garden of bruises flourishing along her body. I turn off the bath that’s now dangerously close to overflowing, checking the temperature of the water. Then I tap her cheek, which is clammy and hot.
She opens her eyes, looking at me without seeing me. Her dark hair is matted, falling around her face in stringy strands. Her lips are ashen, her limbs are still streaked with mud. She smells like sweat and dirt.
No wonder she ran herself a bath. She’s absolutely fucking disgusting.
“How’re you feeling, Lynch?” I ask when her eyes finally focus on me.
Her voice comes out hoarse and broken. “Never better.”
Such bravado coming from a woman lying filthy and half-naked on a bathroom floor. It’s hard not to laugh at her; vulnerability suits her so poorly. Her eyebrows furrow in a tiny glare, and she mutters, “Rot away.”
That Greenleigh eloquence.
“Looks like you’re already beating me to it,” I reply.
I draw her up by her arms, and she follows without protest, teetering on uncertain legs. I prop her on the edge of the bathtub and kneel at her feet to wrap her leg with the plastic sleeve I got from the doctor.
Once it’s secured, I get Willow to stand in front of me, and I remove her underwear, tossing the dirty garments away from me as quickly as possible. Willow’s nudity is nowhere near as exciting to me as how broken she looks, and she makes no attempt at false modesty. Instead, she raises her arm in front of my face, her gold bracelet catching the light.
“What’s this shit?”
“A bracelet.”
She narrows her eyes, feels the bracelet with her other hand, testing the weight. “What’s in it? A chip or something?”
I shrug. “Insurance you don’t go running off before the end of the contract.”
Her lips curl in distaste, and she throws me a look more poisonous than the colour of her eyes. “You put it on while I was passed out, as well. A creep through and through.” She holds the bracelet up to her eyes, peering closer. “Real gold?”
“Naturally. Unlike you, I’m capable of showing class.”
