Tate reviewed more pictures and started to give me more direction. He wanted to organize them into collections. He would label the pictures where he wanted them, then he’d give me suggestions on some other ones. It was by far the most expansive project I’d ever been part of. But it was worth it. The checks Tate wrote cleared, and it was really going to help me out.

My couple days off and away from St. Skin turned into a long days at home. Organizing pictures, running them through software to make the changes Tate wanted, not to mention working on the picture I wanted to get blown up, framed, and give to Tate as a thank-you for the work. I always did that for customers. I’d find that one picture they truly loved and I would do something special with it and give it to them as a thanks. My mother always told me that one picture could change the world. Maybe not the whole world collectively, but the world inside our own hearts and heads. That was during those rare times when hell wasn’t running through the house I grew up in.

And finally, there was the folder of Maddox.

The man who didn’t want his picture taken, yet made the camera melt with the smoldering look from his wild eyes. His jaw was simply made for a camera. The size of his body and the color of the ink on his arms. There wasn’t a single bad picture of Maddox, which didn’t seem fair. He didn’t have a good side…he had a good everything.

I even caught a few rare pictures of him smiling.

He had a big smile, too. A gorgeous smile. A contradiction to the aura and attitude he gave off, which only made the smile sexier.

Sitting there, I had to close the folder and step away for a minute. I was at the point where looking at pictures of Maddox were starting to turn me on. The more I looked at him, the more I felt him inside me. That warmth running wild, making me a little nervous, waking up butterflies in my belly.

I thought about the picture he took of me. I didn’t like that. I was the one getting paid to take pictures of him.

I shut my eyes for a second to catch my breath. What I needed was more coffee. I had plenty to make, but I decided to go for a walk.

Clear my head. Breathe the air. Get a coffee. Then get back to work.

Tomorrow, I’d have to go to St. Skin. There wasn’t much left to do there. Maybe another few days, a week at the most. Unless Tate wanted more from me. Even then, I was really starting to think it was for the best to get out of the situation. Put distance between myself and Maddox. It was a kind gesture for him to show up at my apartment and want to help, but this wasn’t the damsel in distress fairy tale stuff.

This was serious.

I left the apartment and took a long walk. I got my coffee and walked slow the whole way back home. I enjoyed myself so much that I finished the coffee by the time I got back to the apartment. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually did that. Just turn everything off and appreciate the small things. The noise of the traffic on one block, the noise of nature on another. The calmness of the day. Bright blue sky. White wisps of clouds scattered throughout the sky as though a painter had just flung their brush wherever.

I tossed the empty coffee cup into the trashcan outside the apartment building and had an extra kick in my step as I hurried up the steps. I was full of energy and caffeine. I was going to get all the pictures together and send everything to Tate. Then I wanted to set up a final date for St. Skin and move on. I had a couple calls to return for clients needing pictures. And I wanted to maybe poke at Tate to see if he could give me some referrals. Then again, if I stayed close with Tate, that kept me a little closer to Maddox.

I opened the apartment, humming some random notes, trying to focus my mind from Maddox to work.

One step into the apartment and that was all taken care of.

“Hazel…”

Mitch stood there, holding my camera in his hand.

* * *

It was like ice running through my veins. I blinked, harder, faster, figuring he would disappear. Mitch didn’t come back so quick, ever. All he usually wanted was to torture me a little, get some pleasure out of it, and then disappear. But obviously he had other intentions in mind.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in here?”

Mitch laughed. “Front office let me in.”

“How?”

“Just had to show the pictures of us,” he said. “Said I forgot my key. Had flowers for you. Was going to surprise you with flowers and some food. I’m a very good talker, Hazel.”

I swallowed hard.

That I knew.

Mitch really knew how to talk.

“Flowers?”

He pointed to the dining room table.

There was a bouquet of colorful flowers sitting there.

“I don’t…”

“You left last night. I went to get pizza. I came back. You were gone. You fucking left.”

“I have a client right now,” I said. I was good at lying on the fly. At least, until it bit me in the ass. Or across the face. “I get weird hours.”

“Weird hours? So, leaving was for work?”

“Yes,” I said. “I had some pictures to take care of.”

That wasn’t a lie.

“Do you like the flowers?” Mitch asked.

I looked at them. They were brightly colored.

I nodded. “Yes. They’re beautiful.”

“You fucking hate them.”

“I didn’t say that, Mitch.”

“I see it in your face.”

“I’m…when you show up like this…”

“You don’t like it,” he said. He stepped back to the table. He gently put the camera down. “You hate it. You hate me.”

“I never said that, Mitch. You know what I don’t like. The things you do sometimes.”

Mitch jumped forward. I jumped back. There was distance between us but never enough.

“See? That’s why. You have to stay in line. You have to appreciate me. And sometimes I just like it. So fucking deal with it, Hazel. Just deal with it.”

He started to yell. I felt the panic rippling through me. I envisioned Maddox sitting outside the apartment, then busting in. Saving me. Hurting Mitch the way Mitch hurt me so many times.

No, this was my problem. My battle. I enabled this. I enabled so much of it.

“Stop,” I said. “You have to stop, Mitch. We don’t live together. You can’t come here and break into my apartment.”

“Break in? I was let in. You can’t even call the fucking police if you wanted to. And that’s what you want to do, right? You want them to cuff me and take me away.”

Mitch got closer to me. So close that he was able to reach out and touch me. Which he did. Touching my face. Making me feel ill.

“But here’s the truth,” he whispered. “You can’t fucking stop me. You don’t have the heart or the guts to say anything. Because somewhere inside you…you know you deserve it. If it was that wrong, you wouldn’t stand for it.”

I took a deep breath. “Mitch…”

“You know I gave you this life,” he said. His hand touched my jaw. Slowly, he started to increase his grip. It hurt. “You said you wanted to be a photographer. Who helped you?”

I nodded. “Yes. I know, Mitch.”

“Who fucking helped you?”

“You did, Mitch,” I said. “You did.”

“And then you took off. You left me. You wanted nothing to do with me. You took my money and left. Like a fucking whore.”

Mitch squeezed my jaw tighter.

I started to shiver with fear.

“Ain’t that right, Hazel? Are you my whore?”

I shook my head.

Mitch didn’t like that. He forced my head up and down. “Say yes. Say yes to me, whore. You’re always my whore. Forever my whore.”

He let my jaw go.

“Do it,” he said. “Are you my whore?”

I nodded.

“Say it.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Mitch…I’m your…”

Mitch flexed his shoulders. I let out a yell and jumped back, fearing he was going to hit me. Instead, he laughed.

“Fine,” he said. “You won’t say it? Then I’ll show you it.”

His hands grabbed my waist and he turned me around. I let out another yell but his hand slid across my mouth. He wasn’t big and wasn’t strong, but he was bigger and stronger than me. Pinned against my own door, the path to freedom, I felt Mitch press his body against mine.

“If you scream again, I’ll make it so you can’t scream for a long time, got it?”

I nodded.

His hand slid away from my mouth. I wanted to vomit.

“Tell me you’re my fucking whore, Hazel.”

“I’m your whore,” I said, my voice weak.

“Good girl,” he whispered before he kissed my hair.

Then he broke away from me.

I quickly turned, sliding to the corner of room next to the door.

He backed up, showing his hands. “Hey, I’m not here for that. I’ll get that when I’m ready. And you won’t try anything funny, right?”

I nodded.

Mitch smiled. “See? I knew we were meant to be together.”

He backed up to the table and grabbed the flowers in the small purple vase.

“Mitch…”

“Shut up,” he said. “You don’t want me here. You hate these flowers? Fine.”

Without hesitation, Mitch threw the vase against the wall. Glass shattered. A large wet spot ran across the wall. Flowers fell to the flower.

I let out a whimper.

“And I know how to fix this,” he said. “Take back what’s mine. You left me last night for a client? To take a fucking picture? Fine. Let’s see how well you do now…”

Mitch reached into his back pocket and took out a hammer.

Another whimper escaped me, louder. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I’d had my warning about screaming.

In my head, I pictured him breaking my fingers. Doing something to make it so I couldn’t hold the camera.

But I was wrong.

Really wrong.

Mitch turned and slid the camera to the edge of the table. He brought the hammer up high in the air and looked at me. He snarled his lip with that evil grin of his. Then he brought the hammer down to the camera. A piece of black plastic flew off on impact. He brought it back up and did the same thing again and again…and again.

The thuds were loud and damaging.

I wanted to attack him but couldn’t. I was so mad at myself for letting this happen. But it was all I knew. It was what my mother showed me, whether she meant to or not.

Finally, Mitch hit the camera one more time, and it fell to the floor. He tucked the hammer into his back pocket. Then he stomped on the remains of the camera a few times, just for good measure.

“I guess I’ll be going now,” he said, suddenly calm.

He walked to the door and paused to turn his head and looked at me.

“You’ll never leave me for good,” he whispered. “We both know that. Good luck with your work.”

Just like that, Mitch was gone again.

I slowly lowered myself to the floor, still in the corner. I stared across the living room at the pieces of my camera. That was my career. That was how I paid my bills. That was how I brought myself happiness.

And now it was in ruins.

Pieces.

Garbage.

Way beyond fixing.

Its destiny was to be scooped up and thrown into the trash.

My stomach flipped and I grabbed for my mouth.

At that second, my phone started to ring.

I looked at the screen and saw the name Tate - St. Skin.

I ignored the call and my eyes filled with tears.

The worst part of it all was that Mitch wasn’t the first person to do this to me. I swore to myself he would be the last. But he had just come back again.

How many times would I let him come back and do this?

I didn’t know.

You’re stronger than this, Hazel. I know you are. You are stronger than this. Got that? Do you hear me, Hazel with the green eyes…

My eyes opened wide.

The pep talk voice in my head echoed from me to someone else.

I heard Maddox talking to me…