Considering how determined I was to drain every drop of bourbon from the decanter, I probably should’ve skipped the glass altogether. I’d already refilled it twice and now let it dangle from my fingers, swirling the amber liquid with idle intent. I’d dragged a chair from the sitting area and planted it in front of the window—the vast pane of glass that had held Zephyr spellbound last night.
I sipped the liquor and looked out, searching for what I’d lost. What I sent away.
My hand throbbed, a reminder of the kind of trickery I’d vowed never to fall for. I’d come too far to stumble into the pitfalls of my youth, and love was foremost among them. If nothing had come from a young, idealistic demon pledging himself to an angel except a lesson learned, so be it. But I wouldn’t ignore my own hard-earned wisdom.
I wouldn’t love Zephyr.
I didn’t.
What had happened between us was a fiction of his design. He enticed me with his wiles, then strung me along with simpering smiles and good manners. Never forgetting the please when he asked me to feed him, or the thank you afterward. Like I was helping him. Doing something meaningful with my dreary existence. Taking care of something precious.
He’d become fragile when I shouted at him, cowed and quivering. I’d been no different than Maslow using words to cut him down, and I’d tossed him out the moment I was through.
Because he deserved it.
He hurt me.
Being made into a fool hurt me.
But now, I wanted him back because the illusion was better than the ugly reality. Having someone on my arm admiring me, relying on me, was far preferable to this solitude. I’d enjoyed getting to dote on someone. Especially someone as grateful as Zephyr. He soaked up every ounce of attention and scrap of affection, then radiated it back onto me. He took and gave in a perfect circle of trust.
Until I broke it.
No.
Hedid.
He shattered my faith in him, inus, and fuck… I had wanted there to be an us. I was tired of only me. Always me. Year after year, decade after decade. I made for miserable company.
An hour passed before a barrage of knocks thundered at the door. I’d ignored the earlier ones, after Colette delayed Zephyr’s return to the Dollhouse for the sake of shouting at me from the hall. Several curse words, only a few inEnglish, and demands that I come out and deal with my problems rather than foist them off onto her.
But I’d sat.
Here, in this chair, watching the sun rise over Mount Charleston.
And Colette was back.
I’d had her key card deactivated since the last raid on my minibar, or she would likely be in my face already.
Ignoring her was impossible with the ruckus she was raising, though. My neighbors would be calling the front desk any minute to lodge complaints.
Setting the decanter and glass aside, I hauled myself to my feet and answered the door to a very angry hellhound.
Colette’s blonde hair was frizzed, and her expression was a series of hard lines, every one of them pointing at me. “You are an imbecile,” she said as she stomped into the suite.
I pushed the door shut behind her while muttering, “By all means, come in.”
She wheeled on me before I’d even turned around. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Coll—”
“No.” She wagged a chastising finger. “You don’t get to dismiss that boy like he’s nothing and then hide up here nursing a glass of guilt.”
I massaged my temples. “You don’t understand?—”
“Idounderstand,” she snapped. “I understand that you’re a coward.”
“Excuse me?”
