Page 37 of Beautifully Deranged

I lower myself onto the mattress, rolling onto my back, letting the smell of her engulf me. God, Lola. I fist the sheets, drag them up to my face, and breathe in the ghost of her warmth, the scent of her shampoo, her skin. I shouldn’t be here. But I’ll die without this.

My legs carry me toward the bathroom, where I spot her lotion bottle on the counter. I flip the cap and pour some into my palm, rubbing it into my skin, over my pulse points. Still not enough.

I lift the lid on the laundry hamper. Her panties sit like a prize, right on top of everything else. I clutch them in my hand, lift them to my face, and press my lips to the seam. She has no idea how wrecked I am. How I’d burn cities to have her back.

My tongue drags across the fabric, tasting the faintest hint of her.

Fuck.

I miss her taste. The way she’d pull my hair, press my face between her thighs, how her soft gasps would turn into desperate moans as she came undone against my tongue. I’m hard beyond relief, but she’s the only one who gets to touch me. Not my hand. Not anything else. Only her.

Even my own damn palm feels wrong, it would be some cheap imitation of the real thing. I’d rather suffer. I shove the panties into my pocket. My trophy. My salvation. I need to leave before I do something stupid, something I can’t take back.

But something catches my eye. A simple sketch resting on the counter. My fingers twitch as I reach for it, my stomach twisting, my jaw tightening before I even flip it over. Rage detonates inside me.

Because it’s not just any sketch.It’s a man. Another fucking man.

The paper crumples in my grip as I stare at his face, my vision darkening at the edges. Is this professional? Just a subject? Just a drawing?

No. Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t get to draw other men. She doesn’t get to let them live in her mind, exist under her hands, be brought to life by her strokes.

That belongs to me. I am her only muse. I am the one. I’d hate for some bastard to believe otherwise. To think he was special. That he meant something to her.

I’d rip his heart out.

But then—another thought.

Something worse.

What if he’s not just a subject?

What if this is him? The man she gave herself to the night I shattered her. A coil of venom wraps around my throat, tightening, choking me.

I’ll find out. I grab a pencil, grip like a vice, knuckles popping. I need to ruin it. I need to drag the graphite across his smug face, scratch through every line she drew, erase him completely.

I bring the pencil down, pressing too hard. The lead snaps, piercing my palm. A tiny dot of blood rises. Fuck me. I can’t do it. Because it’s hers.

It came from her beautiful mind, her delicate hands. The same hands that once cupped my face and clung to me while I took her apart. I can’t destroy anything she made.

So I do the next best thing. I fold the paper and shove it into my pocket. This man… whoever he is, wherever he’s hiding, whatever he meant to her—

I’ll find him.

And when I do—

God help him.

?Chapter Eighteen?

Mikhail

I stand outside the café, half-hidden by the corner, watching her through the window. She’s right there. Laptop open, fingers moving fast. That usual look of focus on her face, mouth set, brow tight. The screen lights her up, and damn, she looks good. She’s wearing red lipstick. That same shade I used to smudge with my mouth. Now it stains a paper cup. She takes a sip, sets it down. The mark’s there, vivid and perfect. I should be the one she marks. Not some fucking cup.

She closes the laptop. Shrugs into her coat. And I follow, of course I do. She doesn’t notice. The roles have flipped, my little shadow, now the one being watched. The stalked has become the stalker.

I trail her to the park. She sits, opens a brown paper bag, and starts tearing up bread for the birds. She always had a soft spot for anything smaller than her.The wind plays with her hair. It lifts and falls across her face, and all I can think about is how it would feel tangled around my fingers, how easy it’d be to pull her close.

I walk over and sit down beside her.

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