Alone with blood and death and endless violence.
It had cost her the love of a man she’d wanted so much, and the future she’d believed they would have together. Was that when it had started? she wondered. Was that when that little seed had planted itself inside her? The night Jeremy had walked away from her?
Pitiful, she thought and pulled off the headphones. Pathetic. Was she going to let her psyche be twisted up by a man—and one who hadn’t been man enough to deal with her? Would she come to accept death just because he hadn’t accepted her for who and what she was?
That was just bullshit. She turned to her side, hugging her pillow as she studied the fading light through the window.
She only thought of Jeremy because Larkin had gotten her juices going again. She didn’t want to go soft again for a man, to feel herself being taken over and swept off by all that emotion.
Sex was okay, sex was fine, as long as it didn’t mean anything more than relief and release. She couldn’t go through the pain again, and that awful feeling of abandonment that left the heart a quivering, bleeding mass inside the chest.
No one stayed, she thought as she closed her eyes. Nothing was forever.
She drifted off, the music from the headphones she’d neglected to turn off tinny and distant.
It filled her head, the music that was her own excited blood pumping. It was nearly dawn, the night’s work over. But she was so full of energy, so fired up, she knew she could go for hours yet.
She looked down at herself as she walked the last block toward home. She’d ruined another shirt. The job, she thought, was hell on the wardrobe. It was torn and bloody, and her left shoulder was a mass of bruises and throbbing pain.
But she was so juiced!
The suburban street was quiet and pretty—everyone tucked up in bed and safe. And as the sun came up, the dogwoods and tulip trees were so showy and pink. She could smell hyacinths and took a deep breath of soft, sweet spring.
It was the morning of her eighteenth birthday.
So she was going to clean up, rest up, then spend a lot of time making herself irresistible for a very hot birthday date.
As she unlocked the front door of the house where she lived with her father, she slung her bag off her good shoulder, dumped it. She needed to clean her weapons, but first she wanted about a gallon of water.
Then she spotted the suitcases sitting near the door, and the leading edge of thrill dropped away.
He came down the steps, already wearing his coat. He was so handsome, she thought. Tall and dark, that chiseled face and bold eyes. Just the slightest glint of silver in his hair. A world of love and misery opened inside her.
“So you’re back.” He glanced at her shirt. “If you’re going to let them bloody you, take a change of clothes. You’ll draw attention to yourself walking around like that.”
“No one saw me. Where are you going?”
“Romania. To research, primarily.”
“Romania? Couldn’t I go? I’d really like to see—”
“No. I’ve left a checkbook. There should be enough to run the house for several months.”
“Months? But…when are you coming back?”
“I’m not.” He picked up a small carry-on bag, slung it over his shoulder. “I’ve done all I can for you. You’re eighteen, you’re of age.”
“But—you can’t—Please, don’t just go. What did I do?”
“Nothing. I’ve put the house in your name. Stay, or sell it. Go where you like. It’s your life.”
“Why? How can you just walk out on me this way? You’re my father.”
“I’ve trained you to the best of my ability, and yours. There’s nothing else I can do for you.”
“You could stay with me. You could love me, just a little.”
He opened the door, picked up the suitcases. It wasn’t regret she saw on his face, but an absence. He was, she understood, already gone.