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Mia included.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
The only difference is that I’m alarmingly relying on her presence to create or, more accurately, finish the failures that didn’t make the cut. Before she came along, I used to shape this convincing façade that I was able to sculpt at will. Unquestionably, I made some stunning pieces of art, but I often found them underwhelming, like getting to a physical climax, but the mental side doesn’t live up to the intensity.
Ever since Mia’s ghosting, I’ve spent time in the studio staring at the miniatures I’ve made or the statues I’ve finished since she came along. I’ve created unquestionable masterpieces that I’m too possessive to show to the world. Not even Mum, who’s been my number one art guide and cheerleader wrapped in one.
The process is even weirder since I made those while she was slumbering, watering—and talking to—plants, or eating like a weirdly adorable food monster.
At this point, it’s veering dangerously close to an unhealthy addiction and I don’t allow those. Even smoking is an indulgence I can quit if I choose to. In fact, I’ve been cutting down on the cancer sticks lately.
Mia needs to be like cigarettes. Something I revel in but can discard when I’m bored. And Iwillbe bored. It’s a fact, not a speculation.
After I park my McLaren in plain sight for anyone passing by to see, I stroll through the animal shelter’s door.
It’s late o’clock even for people who worship at animals’ feet, but that doesn’t seem to deter our resident Goody Two-shoes from coming here at this ungodly hour of the night. It smells rotten, just saying.
Some cats hiss at me as I pass by. Dogs growl, but I glare at them and they hide behind their tiny cages.
It’s no secret that Bran is the twin who’s a lover of all things animals and sunshine. I never cared for these creatures. Humans are enough of a headache as it is.
Besides, I can’t really use animals if they’re incapable of being manipulated, now, can I? Unlike popular psychological bollocks, however, I’ve also never considered hurting them like wannabe psychopaths.
Only mentally weak psychos with mummy issues hurt helpless beings, and I refuse to be lumped in the same category as the idiots.
I barge straight to the storage room, where Mother Teresa—sorry, I meanCecily—is organizing pet food on the metallic shelves. Her silver hair is held in a messy chignon, making her look like a wise figure.
Leisurely, I remove my mask, casually hold it in my hand, and clear my throat.
Cecily glances in my direction with a slight jump, then pushes one sack of food in place. “What are you doing here?”
I stroll inside, taking my time and basking in the plain surroundings. “I’m wounded in my little heart. No hi, how are you?”
“I don’t think you came here for anyhis orhow are yous. I’m surprised you even know this place exists.”
I park myself against the shelf beside her and summon Mia’s dramatic pout. “You’ve become so cold, Cecy.”
“Doesn’t feel good to be treated the way you treat people, does it?”
This, of course, is because she helped me, though indirectly, to set off the Heathens’ mansion like fireworks. Apparently, Cecily isn’t a fan of how I used the information she freely provided.
“Aww, you still mad about that other time? That happened centuries ago in human years.”
“You might be able to hurt others and forget about it, but that’s not me, Lan.”
“They allowed themselves to be hurt. Who am I not to indulge them?”
“You’re impossible, and there’s no reasoning with you.” She heaves out a sigh. “I honestly don’t know what I liked about you.”
I grin. “Oh? Is this a confession?”
“No, this is me calling myself daft. I think I liked the idea of you, but when I got close, I realized you’re like your statues. Gorgeous on the outside.” She taps my chest. “Empty on the inside.”
“Did you saygorgeous?”
“Just leave, Lan. I have some work to finish up.”
“Not so fast.” I step in front of her, blocking her exit. “See, I know you swapped me for Jeremy, and while I’m wounded in my little black heart, I let it happen because you can help me bring him down.”
