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Artemis: Immediately.

Artemis: I am trapped.

Artemis: Your stupid romantic little winter fantasy is not funny.

Not Delivered.

Not Delivered.

Not Delivered.

Not Delivered.

Not Delivered.

Artemis: You have got to be kidding me.

Not Delivered.

Artemis: I will make you both pay for this.

Not Delivered.

Artemis: AND IT WILL HURT.

Not Delivered.

fourteen

. . .

The Grump and the Ice Princess

“Well… fuck.” — K

I slept like shit.

Well, I barely slept at all.

That wasn’t unusual. Most nights, I managed three hours. Four if the universe was feeling fucking generous.

Zymon thinks I can’t sleep because I’m haunted by the ghosts of my past. He has no idea how right he is.

Junie, on the other hand, likes reminding me how much I have to be grateful for. How I shouldn’t let the past keep me from being happy. Or some other sappy shit. Maybe she’s right. Maybe she isn’t.

Either way, it doesn’t change what happened.

That’s the problem with people who think success and money can fix everything. They look at what you have now and assume the things that broke you disappeared somewhere along the way.

Turns out, a mansion, millions of dollars, and enough fame to make strangers think they know you can’t kick the past in its fucking ball sack and make it disappear.

So I learned to sleep like a soldier during a war.

Half-awake. Always listening. Always waiting for something to go wrong.

Always running from ghosts that don’t need legs to chase me.

Most mornings, I wake up exhausted.