Page 77 of Like Grim Death: Part One
I’ve become the lines he cuts.
It drains me.
“Tell me you don’t know anything.” The usual bite in his words is absent. It’s a plea. A cry. A need for attention and relief. A desire for a balm.
“Lucifer… don’t be stupid.”
His gaze cuts to mine, but his voice isn’t any less broken.“Tell me.”It’s desperate, and it makes my skin crawl.
I want to reassure him, but I’m fucking drained. Sometimes, I feel I can barely make it through the damn day. Nightly feedings and humming the twinkle, twinkle, little star song, changing Rain’s outfits half a dozen times a day because I can’t stand to see any spit-up on his clothes. Doing laundry, over and over and over, scrubbing bottles by hand until my skin is dry and cracked. I don’t know why I’m like this, so fixated on these things. I was never so neat. And when it comes to me… well, I’m still in the torn, black tank I’ve worn all week. It smells a little like Mav; leather and marijuana, it’s comforting. My shorts aren’t visible beneath the hem of my tank, and my hair is clipped up in an oily mess on top of my head. I don’t have much to give him.
“I don’t knowanything.”I don’t want to fight. I want to fucking sleep. Rain won’t forever. He’ll be up soon, and he likes to rest during the day. I try my best to do the same, like Lucifer tells me, but it’s hard.
For one of the first times in my life, I wish I had a close female friend. Ria could help me, but she’s… well, I don’t know. That guilt knots in my stomach.
Where are you, J? I need help. Why were we so fucked?
“I know that look.” The edge to my husband’s voice comes back in full force. Low and raspy, he stops spinning the knife. Instead, he unfurls his fingers, resting his hand on his lap, and he draws blood with the sharp steel of the knife. Right over top of the X on his palm.
Coagula.
I see crimson stain his fair skin.
For one wild moment, I think desperately of Maverick. I imagine him earlier this week, when he dropped Rain off. His arm around me. Leaning against him. I wish he’d come over, just for me. Not for work or Lucifer or cult secrets.
Just me. I need to talk to someone.
But then I remember how angry he got, seeing the wound on my low belly. And itisa wound. I’ve had to apply ointment, and Iwanted it.I did. But I wish it had been made out of something besides hatred and loathing.
Maverick was fucking pissed. I could feel the tension snap between us when he saw it. I can’t deal with that, settling wars where there shouldn’t be any arms drawn. I just… I just need someone to fuckinglistento me, and I don’t want to feel like I’m stepping on eggshells while I’m speaking.
“You’re a million miles away.” My husband says it without any sort of wonder. It’s just a low burning anger.
“I’m exhausted.” The truth, shaking from my mouth.
“You’re not the only one.” A sharp retort.
I keep my gaze on the branches scraping against the window as the wind blows. “You’re asking questions you know the answer to, meanwhile, you give menothing,Lucifer.” I shake my head, pressing two fingers to my temple before I drop my hand. “I don’t want to fight,” I add in a whisper.
“You don’t want to do anything.” A snarl in his voice.
I snap my eyes to his, watching him glare at me.
His words cut too deep. Sometimes I feel like I’m wasting away. I’m thinner than I was before I got pregnant with Rain. Ella shot me a look one night when Mav commented on my weight loss, but I heard the concern in his words. It wasn’t a compliment, and the slimming down isn’t intentional. I didn’t care about getting back to my “pre-baby” size.
I just forget to eat when I’m running around taking care of Rain. Or, when I try, food tastes like ash. Lucifer has cooked, had meals delivered, offered to bring someone in.
I don’t want more people here.
I don’t know what I want, which is the story of my life, but this time it feels different. There’s the black hole of indifference twisted up in a ball of nerves that I’ll fail Rain. That, even now, with the baby monitor in my hand, Rain will stop breathing and it’ll be all my fault. Another way I was born wrong.You can’t even be a fucking mother, but you hate Maddox Astor for failing you?
I almost laugh at the voice inside my head. It’s correct, and it crashes high waves of anger into me.
“And what doyouwant to do, huh? Get high? HaveOpheliasuck your dick? Or maybe you wanna fuck Ella again—”
“You are delusional.” He speaks quietly, but cuts me off all the same. The hypocrisy dripping from his words is either unnoticed by him, or simply ignored.
“Have you heard the questions you’re fucking asking me? Andyouthought I was going to cut our son in his crib Monday night. I don’t think I’m the only one withdelusions.”
