Page 152 of Boy of Ruin
Mav has his hand on her ass as she leans back against him in the big leather chair, her head resting on his shoulder. She’s in sweatpants, just like he is. But unlike him, she’s got a shirt on.
Her green eyes are locked on mine, and she says, quietly to the room as Mav tosses the vape on the table, “I’m going to make cookies. Is that okay, Lilith?”
I wish everyone would stop fucking calling me that. That was his name for me. But I’m not for him anymore.
I force a smile anyway, even though that’s the last thing I feel like doing. Nearly a week has passed since our fight on the porch, since I cried in that pillow. I haven’t seen Lucifer since. I’ve played cards with Maverick, watched movies alone. Ella has done a lot of fucking cooking, and Mav had a doctor come over to “check me”. Baby is fine. I’m growing fine. The doctor said he’d come again in a month.
I’m not planning to be here in a month, but sure, he can knock himself out thinking I will.
I’ve heard nothing more about who is stalking the Unsaints and the Order of Rain. Elijah’s wife is still missing, and apparently, he’s trying to tear apart the world to find her. I heard Mav speaking in a low voice on the phone the other night. Elijah has been to Moscow, Berlin, down to Mexico, and to D.C. looking for his wife.
At least someone cares about that kind of shit.
Ella smiles back at me and turns to kiss Maverick on the head.
He slaps her ass as she gets up and her freckled face flushes pink, but she bounces out of the living room to the kitchen.
My legs are stretched out on the coffee table as I sit on the couch opposite Maverick. The overhead light is dimmed down, blackout curtains pulled closed. There’s a TV beside Mav, and behind me is the door to the back porch. I think about walking outside. Maybe going upstairs.
I’m tired. Or maybe I’m just fucking depressed. All seems the same these days.
I’d be in my room right now except for the fact that my brother said he wanted to talk to me about something, and that we’re leaving soon, so here I fucking am.
I hear Ella pull a pan out from under the stove, the sound probably louder than it needs to be. Mayhem looks over at her, flashing a smile, and she giggles.
I feel sick being so near their happiness.
Why can’t my relationships be easy like that? Why can’t anything be fucking easy like that?
“Lucifer told me. What my dad said to you.” Mav clears his throat as I go rigid on the couch, my hands balled into fists on my borrowed sweats from Ella. “Our dad,” he amends.
I hold his gaze, warmth flushing to my face, but I say nothing.
His eyes go to my left hand. I know what he’s thinking about. The fucking X. Coagula.
To bind.
“This doesn’t mean shit to me. And it doesn’t mean shit to you, either.” Jeremiah’s words echo in my head. I think about repeating them for my brother but decide to keep my mouth closed.
He runs a hand over his face and closes his eyes a second. The inverted cross on his face is pulled down as he frowns, drumming his fingers on his sweats, the muscles on his chest flexing, his abs too. He’s covered in tattoos.
I can’t help thinking about Lucifer’s. Just the one, on his thigh. The skull with smoke coming through one eye, a ‘U’ through the other.
Lucifer asked me to get one, too. He said after Ignis, I could do it.
Like I couldn’t before. Like these rules actually fucking mean something.
Mayhem drops his hand and meets my gaze. “I didn’t know. Ella didn’t know.”
I stare at him, unspeaking. I hear another clattering of pans in the kitchen and wonder if Ella just plans to tear the entire cabinet apart to pretend she isn’t listening.
She has a scar too.
I’ve seen it.
And my brother’s, although his hand is currently balled into a fist right now, only my name visible, over the top of it.
He didn’t even marry her. But Lucifer did.
