Page 9 of Lust
That cute, buttonlike nose wrinkled in disdain. “I think that’s enough now. Acedia refrained from telling me that you were likethis.No wonder we’ve been dragged out of her closet to work again. You must be a very special case.”
“What does that mean?”
Lust shook her head. “No matter. I am a professional.” She closed her eyes, releasing a calming breath through her nostrils. “There is no woman too tough for me to crack.”
“What does that mean? What am I? A pistachio?”
The bed creaked as Lust crossed her legs and patted the spot next to her. “Come. Sit down, Mercy. We have many things I think we should talk about before we commence with your healing process.”
“Excuse me?” Mercy continued to sit right where she was. “What things? Are you my therapist now?” She had officially gone off the deep end. So desperate for companionship, for someone to listen to her, that she had gone straight past a real therapist and now dreamed them up in her own house.
Lust unclipped her bun and let her hair spill over her shoulders. “Something like that,” the lady in red said. “Come on, it’s only a talk. When we’re all done, I’ll be out of your hair.” She flipped her own and winked at Mercy.
Sighing, Mercy heaved herself up and shuffled toward the bed. Her pants strangled her limbs. Her blouse was much too tight. Her bra felt like a vise, and she was pretty sure she had a wedgie. Far from sexy.Farfrom erotic. Far, far from everything this personification of Lust proclaimed herself to be.
Aside from the harrowing minute when Acedia carried her away from the bridge, Mercy had yet to touch one of these so-called deities. Now, however, she sat close enough to touch Lust - not that she did. Mercy hadn’t been religious since she was forced into a church, yet growing up in such a family made her think that touching a deity without permission was abadidea. Sacrilegious. Yuck. There was a scary word. Although Lust gazed at Mercy with those soft, bedroom eyes and smiled like a naive maiden, a name like “Lust” implied she was anything butnaiveor a damned maiden.
“Someone has hurt you, haven’t they, Mercy?”
Mercy steadied her chin and gazed at the floor. The beige carpet did nothing to alleviate her doubts, since it was the same carpet Marissa picked out when they renovated this room. Back then, they planned on inviting tons of friends to stay over in their happy, loving home. Marissa wanted to show off how much money she made with the high quality furniture and linens. She had taken those things when she moved out, leaving Mercy with nothing but a bed frame and a stupid beige carpet.
“I guess so,” she grumbled. Could she be any more unappreciative about everything going back to church and fuckingMarissa?Besides, didn’t an omniscient being like a goddess imply that she already knew everything? Not that it was any of her business, damnit.
“What was her name?”
Something gnawed at Mercy. Indigestion. Bile. Flaring in her chest and heaving up her throat. “Marissa.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“She was a beautiful woman.” Mercy slapped her hand over her mouth. Why did she share that? Because an image of Marissa, with her thick hair and freckles, made her remember? “No, I mean she still is a beautiful woman. It’s not like she’s dead.”
“She’s dead to your life, Mercy.”
Not quite. Mercy touched the scar on her face, the one few saw unless they looked too closely.
“I’m sure there are many things troubling you.” Lust looked away, the scent of strawberries exuding from her intangible skin. “We wouldn't have been sent to you if it weren’t so. Yet what I know best is the matters of the heart and loins. The pain that comes from the person who hurt you. What did she do to you?”
Mercy stiffened. What could she say? She had never told anyone the full story of what happened with Marissa. “She was my girlfriend of four years, and I was madly in love with her. What else matters?”
“Something terrible happened.”
Many terrible things had happened. Why should Mercy talk about them? “Things were great until about one year in. Then she…”
“Yes?” Lust brushed her soft fingers against Mercy’s arm.
Silence filled the room. “She lost her job and started drinking.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I didn’t think much of it at first. I mean, I drink when I get upset, too.” Jesus, did she ever. She had been drinking too much lately. One thing Marissa hadn’t taken was a collection of spirits in the kitchen cabinet. “She kept it together at first. Went job hunting for a long time. Butthen…”
Lust’s shoulders raised toward her ears. “Then you got that scar.”
Mercy covered her face and held back the tears. “It started with her shoving me when she wanted to be alone. Then she would yell at me, constantly, belittling me and insinuating that it wasmyfault she hit me so hard that her nails ripped open my cheek.”
“I’m sorry, Mercy.”
“You know the worst part?”
