Chapter 7

I sneer at the mousy brunette in the mirror, with her pale face, no makeup and chipped and broken nails, discarding the dress like every other city server who makes less than minimum wage.

I look like a no one. A girl you would step over if she were sitting crying in the street.

I look like a long-forgotten version of myself, whom I despise with my very soul. Plain-faced, nothing extraordinary, just a young down-and-out trying to make ends meet. Someone who has had their soul ripped out and never found it again.

I wonder if Alexi has it in a jar on his desk and all the other souls of broken women he has left in his wake.

Only that would imply he cared enough to treasure it, even as a trophy, which I doubt. It’s probably rumpled and strewn in the gutter behind his club, where he swept it out of his building after he was done with me.

I’m disgusting and pathetic.

Lisa was weak and naïve; she only knew how to keep running and looking for shelter. Esc