Page 16 of Like Grim Death: Part One
“I’d kill for you. I would fuckingslaughterfor you.” His eyes dart past me, to Rain in his crib. “But if you hurt our son…” He leans in close, tilting his head so his mouth is slanted over mine. “I’ll bury you myself.”
Tears burn behind my eyes, and I hate that shit. I hatefeelingall these things, but lately, since Rain was born, it’s like my hormones have wreaked havoc in my mind, my heart, and it’s all I can do. I go through the motions some days, numbly, delirious with the need for sleep. With my father’s death playing over and over in my head. Lucifer’s mood swings and the way he can barely contain himself from hitting up another dealer, drowning his pain in another line.
Jeremiah in the hospital bed.
“It’s time to fucking fly, Sid Rain.”
I close my eyes, squeezing them tight, and I’m acutely aware of the steel blade against my throat.Am I flying now, J?
A few seconds of silence pass.
Lucifer steps away. I hear the knife’s blade click back into place.
I take a deep breath, but I don’t open my eyes, and I don’t move from beside the crib. Footsteps, the clunk of the knife on a dresser.
Three words, whispered in the darkness, full of exhaustion, of regret.“I’m sorry, Lilith.”
I shake my head. I don’t want his fucking apologies. I’m kind of sick to death of them.
“I’m not the enemy.” I swallow the lump in my throat. Lucifer is far, the scent of pine and nicotine no longer close, and I imagine him leaning against the opposite wall as we throw up our pain all over our son’s room. “I’m not…her.”
Pammie.
I can recall the satisfaction I felt from choking her while Maverick swung that hammer into her head. So much shit came out of her. Bursting red and gray and oddly, green.
I felt as if I’d redeemed my husband.
He hated that I'd done it.
I still don’t quite know why. We can’t talk about the things that eat us alive. It makes them real; it makes us feel, and neither one of us likes to do that. I don’t think Ican,aside from these hormonal episodes creating chaos within me, and Lucifer lets anger override every other emotion he might need to process.
“I know.” His voice is hoarse, and it breaks on the second word.
I open my eyes and see his face thrown in shadow, his eyes downcast. He’s leaning against the wall, hands in the pocket of his black hoodie, bandana pulled down around his neck. With the glow from the dark angel nightlight, I can see the hollows under his eyes. Smudged shadowy purple.
We’re both drained. But it’s hard to trust anyone to help us.
It takes a village to raise a child, they say. But I’ve seen the evil in the village. I’ve been under the village’s cruel hands, felt them break a child’s innocence.Mine.
Fuck the village.
It’s me and my husband. The only two people I trust completely to look after our baby boy.
But when I swallow, I still feel the phantom blade against my throat. I sigh, crossing my arms. I won’t be able to sleep now. I would ask him why he’s on edge, what happened tonight at Sanctum, but the past few weeks, since he’s been back to work for the 6, he hasn’t liked to talk about any of it. He’s been oddly more secretive than usual on his work. I don’t have the energy to pry questions from a brick wall tonight.
“I’m going for a run.” I whisper the words and make my way across the room, bare feet skimming quietly over the floor so I don’t wake Rain. I could scream at my husband. I could demand to know why he’d dare think I would hurt our son, but what’s the point?
What’s the point of anything anymore?
Rain Valentin Malikov.
That’s it. The entirety of my reason for existing. Although that’s not quite true either, is it? I’ve started to find joy in words again. Poetry. Reading. In my solo runs. In Lucifer’s body beside mine, curled around me tight, even when we’ve fought during the day. Small glimpses of happiness, I’ve begun to see them, more than I ever have in life.
I hug myself as I enter the hallway, and I hear Lucifer following, pulling Rain’s door to, but not all the way closed. He knows how I feel about that.
He’s behind me as I cross the hall, entering our bedroom. I need to get changed for the run. But when I veer off toward our walk-in closet, he’s grabbing my wrist and spinning me around.
My free hand comes to his chest, feeling the tightness of his muscles through his hoodie. He’s been working out more since his fight with Jeremiah. His shoulders seem broader, his body more muscled. He’s always been far bigger than me, and taller, but now, he seems more so.
