Page 81 of His Greatest Muse
It was the threat to keep me home over the summer with a babysitter when we were supposed to go to Toronto that sent me over the edge. He knew it would. I lashed out. After a trip to the emergency room, I spent the entirety of my suspension in a stuffy office with a therapist who cared far too much about me.
I’ve never feared the consequences of protecting the few people that matter to me. I’m hard-wired that way. The one thing right about me.
But when it comes to Tinsley, that protectiveness is far beyond normal. It’s a living, breathing thing inside of me. A swell of black in my chest that spreads like poison, curdling my blood. If my father could feel what I feel right now, clutching silk in my fist and staring at the fear in Tinsley’s eyes, he’d run.
Bile crawls up my throat as I watch her grow repulsed at the items I’m holding. I want to burn the world for putting that look on her face. And I will. After I get her inside of the bus and out of the eye of anyone who might see us here.
“Inside.” The word is a slap in the silence. Misunderstanding who I’m speaking to, Tinsley nods absently and goes to set her foot on the first step. I circle her wrist, halting her movements. “Not you. Justice. We need to make sure it’s safe.”
She grabs the handle and pulls. It doesn’t budge. “It’s locked.”
“Here.” Justice is already handing her his key. We all have them. Has anyone lost theirs? Left it for someone to take?
It’s not worth risking. I push past both of them and, after shoving the panties into my pocket, take the key from her and open the door. My boots clunk on the floor as I tear through the hallway and search every bunk, the bedroom, and bathrooms. I don’t know what I was expecting to find, but there’s nothing. No one.
When I return to the front of the bus, Tinsley’s sitting on the couch, her legs tucked to her chest, toes hanging over the edge. A cloak of discomfort hangs off her shoulders. She’s been violated more than once these past few weeks. The sting of bile returns, this time harder to swallow down.
Justice is standing across from her, by the television. I should feel bad that he saw all of this before I did, but I can’t find it in me to care. I’d rather him than Tinsley.
“What’s on the paper?” Tinsley croaks, eyes on my left hand.
Rage thunders in my chest as I uncurl my fingers and extend the photo toward her. My jaw pulses with the ache of clenching it so tight.
Her fingers shake when she takes it from me. The terror in her eyes gives way to revulsion the longer she stares at it. An expression as sharp as the tip of a blade twists her features before she drops the picture to the couch, darting her stare to my bulging pant pocket.
“Give me my panties, Noah,” she orders.
“No.”
The photo is enough. I don’t want her seeing what happened to her underwear. My palm stings, fingers burning from the reminder.Dirty. My skin is dirty.
Her lip curls, teeth flashing. “Yes. Let me see them. I need to.”
“No,” I snarl, meeting her seething tone with one just as dark and terrifying.
Slapping a hand out, she reaches for the abandoned photo and shoves it into the space between us. I refuse to look at it. Don’t need to. It’s engrained in my mind.
Us in the hallway at her victory party. Her head thrown pack in pleasure, mine between her legs. An X slashed over my body with angry words beneath it written in red.
Stop. Letting. Him. Touch. You.
I knew something was off. Felt it in my bones. Knew someone had gone into her dressing room that day. Saw it with my own eyes when we watched the security footage later. A tall male body, black clothes, hood up to hide his face, leaving us fucking nothing to go off. I should have been more careful. She’s mine to protect. My responsibility.
My fault. My fault. My fault.
“Now,” she hisses.
“Maybe it’s better if we just get rid of them,” Justice offers weakly.
She acts as if he doesn’t exist. I do the same, too focused on Tinsley. Narrowing my eyes on her, I flare my nostrils with my next exhale. She won’t let it go. Stubborn. Sofuckingstubborn.
The silk burns my skin when I pull them out of my pocket and dangle them between us. The new stain on the crotch turns my stomach. Her eyes fill with venom. She swipes a hand out, but I yank mine back.
“You’re not touching them.”
“Fuck you I’m not. They’re mine.”
“Not anymore. I’m burning them.”