Page 64 of Pray for Scars
I drivemyself back to Nicolas’s apartment, glancing in my mirrors every few miles, wondering why I’mhopingto see headlights racing after me. Hoping every car that passes me by is a black BMW.
But it isn’t.
The roads are empty. It’s nearly three in the morning.
I wonder if my brother has made it back yet, found someone to give him a ride, or strangled someone on the side of the road and stolen their car to get his own ride.
Neither would surprise me.
I see Nicolas’s Mercedes is backed into a spot in his complex, so hopefully he’ll at least let me in. I push the button to turn the car off, lay my head back against the seat, and close my eyes.
What happens next?
I can still feel Lucifer. Still taste him. Still see him in my fucking head. I’m covered in bruises and my hand aches, and I just want…to go back.
But he let me go.
What now.I briefly think about driving this car into a fucking lake. So many people want me dead, none of them realize I’m usually one of them. And none of this shit makes sense. Why the 6 want me, why Lucifer wants me to remember…
The angel.
I press the heel of my hand to my eyes, trying to forget it all again.
A sharp rap on the window makes me jump and I realize I never got my knife back after Lucifer and I finished.
I was a little…preoccupied when I left him standing in the doorway of Mayhem’s house, my blood on his mouth.
I turn my head, and my chest tightens when I see Jeremiah there, a hood pulled over his head, his green eyes bright even in the darkness.
I unlock the door, and he pulls it open, then pulls me out.
I stumble, feeling disoriented from fucking around with Lucifer.
But were we fucking around?
I’m so tired, my eyelids feel heavy, and as Jeremiah shuts the door and pulls me into his chest, I just let him.
I let him, and I sag against his warm body, for once not cringing at the feel of his arms around me, slipped behind my waist.
“You came back,” he says softly against my hair.
I nod, too tired for words.
The boy with blood on his hands.
I push away that memory. I push away the other one, too, of the angel with pale blue eyes.
Take care of it.
My mind drifts off and I feel like I’m floating, in between that stage of sleep and wakefulness that makes everything fuzzy. Makes you feel a little high.
I felt like that with Lucifer’s hand around my throat.
I liked it.
I like it now, too, except I don’t float into oblivion like I did with him. Contentment in the numbness, woven with pain to remind me I’m alive.
Now, I float to something else…
