Page 94 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

I don’t suppose there’s any point trying to figure out what it means now, if it ever meant anything at all. Shoving the pack and lighter back in my pocket, I lift my glass and take a deep gulp.

With the glass placed beside me, I take a drag of my cigarette before pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes.

Fuck.

My head’s a mess. I keep seeing Harrison lying on the floor of the bookshop and bleeding out. He could’ve died tonight, and the realisation I came to in that exact moment?

I’m in love with him.

And all that realisation does is cause me pain. Because he has the power to hurt me more than anyone.

He already has.

No matter how many times I tried to convince myself that I was mistaken, I knew. I think I’ve known for weeks, even after he denied it yesterday.

But how can I move forward? My head says I can’t trust him, that he’ll just keep continually letting me down like so many other people in my life.

But my heart. Fuck. My heart wants to forgive him.

A part of me even understands why he didn’t say anything to anyone. But Jesus Christ, I’m not just anyone. I thought we were…fucked if I know anymore.

Hot tears slide down my face, and I grind them away with the heel of my hand, then pick up my glass and down the whole lot in one go. Taking another drag of the cigarette, I tilt my head back and stare up into the night sky to watch the stars. They’re a little muted from the light pollution but still a pretty sight.

I’m not sure how long I sit and watch those distant twinkling lights. Long enough to pour another drink and finish two more cigarettes at least. My mind is no clearer; if anything, it’s even more muddied from the booze and lack of sleep.

With a sigh, I push myself to my feet. I should check on Harrison, get him to drink some more fluids. Picking up my glass and the bottle, I’m just about to close and lock the door behind me when I get an uneasy sensation prickling at the back of my neck.

It feels like someone is watching me.

I peer into the darkness, the streetlights long since out for the night, but I can’t see anyone. Then behind me, coming from the shop’s backroom, I hear a couple of chilling notes from the music box before it stops again.

I swallow hard.

As terrible as tonight was, we did stop a killer and banish a demon, but I already know that when it comes to the secrets of the Crawshanks family…

We’re only just getting started.

I wake up slowly, climbing through layers of sleep, my eyes gritty and my head throbbing with a dull ache. All of that is secondary to the vehement protestations of my bladder, which feels like it’s about to explode. I have vague recollections of Sam waking me up during the night to make me drink fluids.

Tilting my head to glance at the other side of the bed, I frown when I realise Sam isn’t there. But before I can puzzle it out, my bladder once again reminds me who’s in charge. I ease myself out of bed as gently as possible, only to find I feel much better. I’ve never felt as exhausted as I did last night, but I suspect only part of it was due to my injury. The healing probably took more out of me than anything that came before. Olivia’s magic is extremely potent.

I quickly head into the bathroom, where it feels like I pee for five minutes straight. When I finally finish, I flush the toilet and turn towards the sink to wash my hands, only to catch sight of myself in the mirror.

I’m an absolute mess. There are dark shadows under my eyes, my skin is still paler than usual, and my hair stands up all over the place. But it’s my torso that draws my gaze. Naked to the waist, I can see dried blood down my side and staining my trousers. I trace my fingertip over the raised scar to the side of my stomach.

The events of last night come flooding back to me and I have to close my eyes against the flood of images. Yet all I can think about is Sam and the gentle way he held me despite the anger in his eyes.

I fucked up so badly.

I should’ve just told him when he asked me yesterday. If I had, would things have been different? Or would I still have ended up dangling over a demon trap in the bookshop? Or even worse, would Sam have been hurt, or even killed?

Fuck. I don’t even want to think about that possible outcome.

Stripping off my trousers and shoving them and my underwear in the bin rather than the laundry basket, I turn the shower on and wait for the water to warm up. Once under the spray, I scrub probably more vigorously than I need to, but it’s not just the blood and dirt I want gone. I want to scrub away every memory of last night—the demon, Isaac Crawshanks, but most of all, the way Sam looked at me.

The water is running almost cold and my fingers are prunes by the time I drag myself out of the shower and dry off. Throwing my towel in the laundry basket, I head back into my room and grab clean underwear, a pair of super-soft purple lounge pants with little cauldrons and bats all over them, and a plain white T-shirt.

A buzzing sound has me looking over to the bedside table, and I realise Sam must’ve plugged my phone in to charge before he left. Wondering if that’s him calling me, I hurry over to disconnect the charger. I catch a glimpse of the screen and frown. It’s Grumps, not Sam, but what has really caught my attention is that I have dozens of missed calls, some from Grumps but ninety percent of them from my dads.