My cheeks heat.His.Kohen’s. I shrug noncommittally. “I’ll think about your offer.”
Kohen’s eyes darken. “It’s a yes or no question.”
I hum. “What do I get out of it?”
“I’ll wear a silver and black sapphire ring. If you manage to steal it, I’ll let you keep it.”
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “You always let me keep it.”
He holds up his left hand where there’s a signet ring on his index finger.Mysignet ring thatItook from him. “Do I?”
My jaw drops. “Give it back.”
“You know my conditions.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Bribery doesn’t look good on you, Pyro,” I grumble, crossing myarms.
“Everything looks good on me, Klepto.”
I poke him in the chest while he helps me to my feet. “Just so the record shows, I’m agreeing under duress.”
He lets out a chuckle. “Shut up and get ready.”
Muttering profanities under my breath, I flip him the bird as I back away into the bathroom. I try to keep the air around me light even though every inch of my body and soul feels as if it’s been hit by a boulder.
The door clicks behind me, and my muscles protest before I even start getting undressed after turning on the shower. My fingers tremble and ache as I grip the edges of my hoodie, and my shoulder screams as I pull it off. I drop all my clothing onto the floor as condensation climbs up the walls from the steam billowing out of the shower.
But I can’t bear the thought of water touching my skin. What if I step in and the water goes cold and ice rains down over my bruised flesh? What if I shut the glass shower door and it doesn’t open again? The water could fill up, and what if, this time, the water doesn’t stop at my collarbones?
Stepping away from the shower, I’m struck by my reflection in the mirror. Only a day ago, my skin was a textured canvas that had already been dragged across the dirt. Now, I’m a brushstroke of indigo and violets, splattered with forest green and lime and topped with blotches of scarlet. It’s everywhere: my hands, shoulders, elbows, legs, ribs, and even the corner of my chin. If I was meant to be art before, is the destruction of art still considered art?
It’s as though cracks are running through the plastic mirror, breaking it into a thousand shards that make up the various facetsof my being. None of the fragments fit together. Still, they make a whole. Just a pile of splinters put together to create sharp edges in my armor that’s filled with cavities.
In a way, I look exactly the same, but I don’t recognize myself anymore. Everything was always there, prickled and fragile, but it was hidden under layers of tape. I don’t feel human. I’m not sure I ever really did. I’m a byproduct of my grandfather’s wrath and my mother’s shortcomings. Born into a crumbling, gold-plated cage with nothing but darkness to guide the way. I survived in a place where monsters are made.
I could have been beautiful without the curse of my family. But Medusa was beautiful before they called her a monstrous creature for turning men who wronged her into stone. It wasn’t a curse; it was a gift.
I don’t want to feel human. I want to feel unstoppable.
The door swings open, and I jump back, realizing I never responded to whatever it was he asked.
“Ever heard of knocking, perv?” A quiver runs through my voice, depriving it of any malice.
Kohen’s eyes flick to the running shower, then to the hands trembling against my naked body. His shoulders fall as he steps forward.
“Blaze…” The deep tenor of his voice acts as a blanket over my aching shoulders. A whisper that chases away the nightmares. If I could wrap myself in it, maybe everything would cease to exist, and I’d finally be able to take a breath and taste the air.
“I—” A stone catches in my throat as I avert my attention toward the shower.
He says nothing. Shutting the door behind him, he reaches for atowel from the rack on the wall. With a single gesture from him, I lower myself onto the toilet lid and watch him turn off the shower then run the tap. His corded muscles in his back ripple against his straining white button-up, and I catch a glimpse of his fingers tracking up his arms to fold his sleeves.
I bring my knees up to my chest as I watch him work. The pressure of the tap flickers as he tests the temperature of the water. He brings the towel into the sink and grabs some soap from the shower.
When he turns to look at me, it’s as if all the oxygen has evaporated from the room. My attempts at decrypting the emotions hidden behind his eyes are forgotten when he kneels on the floor in front of me, and I choke as an onslaught of feelings threaten to come out on a sob.
