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Her face falls serious. The scuff of her soles against the pebbles underneath is the only sound lingering in the sudden silence, as she slowly faces me, her back to the car. When my hands find her waist, it’s purely instinctual, then I remember, according to those stupid fucking self-appointed rules, I shouldn’t be touching her. I don’t know if it’s her following my lead or she forgot just as easily, but her hands fall delicately on both my shoulders before I lift her up and place her down on the hood.
Her legs fall open and again, I’m lured into the space between them, my palms resting on either side. The scent of warm florals and mandarin lingers between us. I fight the urge to bury my nose in her neck and lick her warm skin just to remind me that she’s real. If I didn’t know any better I would swear I felt electricity pulsing between us, bouncing off one another eager to merge into one. My eyes flit up to hers as I try to ignore how easy it would be to have another quick taste while she’s up there.
“How are you feeling? After…” I suddenly feel stupid even asking.
Lucy blinks as if lulled out of a spell. Picking up on what I’m trying to ask, she smiles, her gaze finding the sun. Her expression is pensive as if lost in thought, or the past—who knows.
“This is not a relationship, remember?” she says softly. “You don’t have to ask me how I’m feeling.” Her attention is now back on me, and I wish it wasn’t, because somehow those words sting and I step back in response.
She studies me for a beat, and I hope my face is as closed off as I think it is, then pats the hood beside her. I swipe my hand over my face, concealing a sigh, and jump up, joining her on top of the car.
I take the joint from between her fingers, bringing the flame from my lighter to the rolled tip, lighting up a cigarette at the same time. Taking a deep inhale of weed first, I pass it to Lucy but keep it between my fingers so she needs to lean forward. Her eyes are fixed on me when she does, her lips slightly parted while her mouth closes on the filter of the joint, inches away from my heated skin.
“Small drag,” I mutter.
The stern look she sends my way promptly reminds me that she hates being told what to do. It would even be comical if I wasn’t currently suffocating in emotions, craving my usual detachment. Eventually, she takes it from me, and I watch her as she takes a few more puffs, coughing in between all of them, but still holds her own as the setting sun dances across her golden green eyes.
Her giggle breaks the silence we’ve settled comfortably into. I reach over, my fingers grazing her own, and I linger, lost but not really wanting to find my way. Her eyes flit to mine and I snap out of it, taking the joint out of her grasp.
“That’s enough, Luce,” I say a little sternly, but with a small dash of amusement.
She giggles again. “Okay,” she says with a long satisfied sigh. “This feels nice.”
“The weed?” I ask.
She presses her palms to the hood on either side of her thighs, leaning her weight into them as if trying to get closer to the sunset. Her skin glows with the dying rays and I’m left breathless.
“All of it,” she states. The few tokes she’s taken have clearly loosened her tongue because then she adds, “How much do you know about what happened to me?”
I fall silent not knowing how to answer.
“Some,” I finally say. “Not the details.”
“Would you like to?” she says tentatively.
I study her for a bit. I nod.
She takes a large breath in, her face chasing the last rays of sunlight. Then she begins to speak. And a shameful part of me wishes she didn’t. Because I’m left powerless, listening to a past I can’t change. Of men who are already dead when all I want is to kill and maim—in her name. She tells me about her brother first. How he raped her before her forced wedding with Patrick. How her husband Patrick treated her… and abused her. And how her life was not her own. She was simply what Sacro Nuntio told her to be. And for most of her life, she believed exactly that.
I don’t feel worthy of her confession. But still I ache to hear all of her, of what made her who she is now and keep all those jagged edges of herself locked safe inside of me.
Eventually, we fall into silence. I’m lacking the words to comfort her and I hate myself for it.
“Did you always want to be part of the Sin Eaters?” Lucy says after a while.
“I never had much of a choice.”
Never thought much ahead either.
“How so?”
“Family business,” I answer with a shrug. The conversation is as close to mentioning or even thinking about my father as I can stomach so I try to quickly change the subject, and somehow land on the reason why I’m on this road trip in the first place.
“Connor paid me to chaperone you, you know?” I don’t mean for it to come out so harsh, but it still feels like it does.
But Lucy doesn’t sound affected by it, simply answering, “Yes.” She falls silent and then, “How much?”
I flick my cigarette into the road before answering. “Half a million.” Her eyes widen, her head turning to face me but before she can express her shock, I say, “Have it. I don’t want it.”
