“Malcolm,” I breathed, averting my eyes, “okay? It was my fucking step father. Is that what you wanted to hear? The fucked up girl got beat by her parents so now she fucks anyone that will give her attention.”
The pain on his face sliced through my chest. I never wanted to see that look on his face. Pity. Tears welled in my eyes and this time I let them fall freely. Even if I wanted to, I was too far gone to stop them now.
“Fuck, Stevie.” He said, trying to wipe away the tears that kept coming. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m so fucking sorry.”
He pressed his lips against my cheeks repeatedly, desperately trying to catch the salty tears as they fell, and for a moment, I let him. Basking in the embrace of the first man who made me feel and the only man that had ever broken my heart.
His chaste kisses grew more intense as he held my trembling body in his arms. I warred with myself. Too selfish to stop it, yet also too scared to let it go any further. Atlas was off limits, despite what my greedy heart wanted. I knew that once he was sober, he’d regret it and end up hating me even more if I let it go any further.
“No.” I said, pushing him away after finally talking some sense into myself. “Atlas, we can’t do this.”
He immediately let go, and I fought the urge to cry out at the emptiness I felt without his arms around me.
“This isn’t right,” I said, trying to reason with him. “you’re drunk and you have a fiance.”
A bitter smile formed across his lips as he grabbed his bottle of Macallan and took another swig.
“If only things were that simple. Keep running from the truth, little girl.” He warned as he walked towards his room. “It's safer for everyone involved if you do.”
Chapter 34
Stevie
Despite my attempts to get some rest, every time I closed my eyes, the nightmare would come. It was the same one that visited me nearly every night. Only this time, when I felt the jacket get thrown on my body, I’d look up and see Atlas looking at me with pity in his eyes.
I needed to clear my head and there was only one space in this house that had become my home away from home. Ezra’s room.
I slipped out of my room and into Ezra’s on silent feet. He and Tristan were gone for the night, but Ezra had told me to come to his room whenever I didn’t feel like facing my demons and tonight, had definitely become one of those nights.
Ezra’s room was the complete antithesis of where you’d expect a man like him to live. Unlike the unhinged and unpredictable man, his room was the picture of calm and serenity. Ice blue walls, lavender diffusers and soft, luxurious throws and linens accented the space. Taking a deep breath in, I soaked up his comforting scent of lavender tinged smoke and felt the pressure in my chest ease a fraction. His scent worked like magic for my anxiety.
Ezra set the far corner of his room up as a makeshift art studio. Large canvases laid scattered across his tarp-covered floor. Some blank, some partially finished, and some nearly completed. I knew some of them had blood on them, but I tried my best not to think about that.
As I snaked through the canvases, checking out his work, I paused, spotting a blank canvas with a full acrylic paint setup already laid out next to it. I wasn't tired and Ezra had told me that painting was cathartic for him. Maybe getting some of my frustration out on canvas wasn’t such a bad idea.
Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours as I poured my heart out onto the canvas. I didn’t have a clear picture in my mind, only that I needed to get whatever was in my chest, out.
It wasn’t until the sun's first rays of light rose in the sky that I realized how long I’d been working on the canvas. Up close, the canvas looked like a chaotic symphony of colors that had no real purpose or design. But when I pulled back to look at the full 3’ x 3’ canvas, I could see exactly what it was supposed to be as clear as day. Four figures held one smaller one. A woman. At first I thought they were restraining her, but if you look at her feet, you can see that they weren’t touching the ground. They’re holding her up.
“It’s beautiful, Angel.” Ezra murmured, moving to stand beside me.
I didn’t hear him come home and yet somehow; his appearance didn’t surprise me. Ezra had a knack for showing up precisely when I needed him to.
“I know which is which.” He murmured, pulling me in to press a kiss to my neck.
“How can you tell?” I asked, melting into his powerful hold. “I can’t even tell what I created.”
“Sure you can, it’s an interpretation of the way you see each of us.”
“That one.” He said, pointing to the one whispering into the smaller one’s ear, “is me. I’m the devil on your shoulder, baby.”
“That one.” He said, pointing to the brighter one laughing, with his hand running through his hair. “Is Cyrus. You see him as your light, the one that brings you joy.”
“That one.” He said, pointing to the blurry darker one with his hands around the small one’s waist. “Is Tristan. You see him as your stability, but there’s also some mystery around him.”
“And what about that one?” I asked about the last one, that seemed a step back behind the rest.
“That one may be the most interesting of all.” He said with a cocked brow.
