Page 21 of Desperate People

Because no matter what’s going on in my head, she comes first.

Always.

I answer on the next ring.

Chapter Three-Lucy

I get home late.

The launch party for Fuego Lento’s Brazilian video premiere was chaos—lights flashing, camera crews shouting, fans pressing in.

The New York celebration tonight wasn’t any calmer.

Every time I moved, someone was filming me, shouting directions, touching up my makeup.

Chin up, shoulders back, eyes like you’re about to ruin someone’s life.

I’m still buzzing from the noise, the flashing bulbs, the claustrophobic press of too many bodies.

I just want a bath.

Pajamas. Silence.

Maybe ice cream.

My heels slip off the second I cross the threshold, landing in a lazy heap by the coat closet. I move on autopilot, reaching for the lights—and stop.

The air is wrong.

I can’t explain it.

It’s not cold.

Not loud.

But it feels off.

Like the air is holding its breath.

Like my apartment isn’t mine anymore.

I sniff. And I frown.

Is that? What is that?

I creep toward the bedroom, every hair on my body standing on end.

The moment I flip the light switch, my stomach lurches.

“Oh my God.”

My voice comes out barely audible. A whisper too scared to scream.

The room is a war zone.

Drawers ripped open, contents spilled and shredded like someone clawed through them.

My closet has been emptied, hangers clattering on the floor like brittle bones.

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