“False.”
“You’re lying.” Her nails curl into my sleeve, sharp as talons. “At least have the balls to look at me when you do that.”
My molars grind as I meet her bloodshot eyes. “Happy?”
She beams a fake smile. “Ecstatic.”
Then the little devil steals my cigar and flicks it out the window.
“The fuck wasthatfor?” I growl, baring all my teeth.
She bares hers back at me with twice the ire. “Because you’re being a broody bastard and walking around with a stick up your ass!”
“That’s rich, coming from the woman who thinks the rest of the world is here to serve at her fucking feet!”
Poppy recoils as if I’ve slapped her, crimson dusting her cheeks. In rushes the guilt—
Sharp pain lances across my face in time with a blade slashing a streak of rainbow through my right cheekbone.
And out that guilt soars.
“Fuck!” I bark, palming the deep gash as she hisses like a cat spitting its hate.
“Insult me again, and I’ll sever your vocal cords so no one will hear you scream while I flay you alive.”
Guilt seeps back in as tears slip down her cheeks. I wrench myself away from her contagious fury and storm out before I can convince myself that I deserve what she’s done to me, that I caused her more pain she didn’t need.
But I did. IknowI did.
And that only stokes the flames higher.
STRANGERS
Brontë
Blood trails behind me in the studio as I paw through the shelves for the isopropyl alcohol above the slop sink. After splashing the fresh gash with water, I dump the solution onto a rag and slap it to my throbbing cheek.
An inferno ignites the cutting pain to a burning affliction. I brace a hand against the sink and gasp into the stained basin. Unbidden teardrops blur my vision as the searing agony grows and doesn’t fucking stop. I slam my eyelids shut against the torturous burn.
All I see in the darkness isred.
It paints the canvas of my father’s flesh. Streaks down my brother’s face. Coats my own like oil. Cold metal scorches my hands. A gunshot blasts my eardrums. Beneath my stampeding heart, I can still hear the distant howls of the hounds, braying from their cages as the grim reaper comes for their master.
Years flash behind my eyes. I see blood slickening my hands. I feel skin slipping from sinew. I hear screams of the living destined to join the dead.
I shake my head in a feeble attempt to clear it. Play Mozart over the speakers, the ebony and ivory notes chasing the memories back to where they belong. Pat my weeping wound and dig in my pockets for a cigar. My nerves are so shot, I fumble the lighter three times as I try and fail to flick the flame to life.
“How John Constantine of you.”
The lighter slips from my useless fingers, metal clanging a cacophonic clatter. “Putain.”
A snicker sounds from behind me. “Relax,monsieur.I haven’t actually come to collect your soul.”
I fix a glare on the little devil that must’ve followed me here as she picks up the lighter and thumbs the trigger. Fire leaps between us, ochre light warming her arctic mask.
“There,” Poppy chirps when gray streams from my nostrils, snapping the lighter shut in my face. “All ready for hell.”
“Cute.” Blowing smoke at her smirk, I approach the worktable, finding a needle and surgical suture. My hands quake so badly, I’m barely able to thread the eye.
