Free Flesh: Part Eight (The Flesh Series Book 8) by Sky Corgan Page A

out of it.
    My curiosity is not
quite satiated. I set the picture down, standing it up facing me;
then I reach for the next picture. It's far more telling, exactly
what I expected to find. Lucian is in this picture. The raven-haired
boy is on his shoulders, and the woman is standing beside him,
reaching up to hold the boy's hand.
    I spend the next few
minutes circling the room, setting up all of the pictures. There are
studio portraits and candid photos. The boy is in about half of them.
The other half are just Lucian and the woman. Putting the nail in the
coffin of my suspicions though is one photo of the woman in a
gorgeous, expensive-looking wedding gown and Lucian in a tuxedo.
    She's his wife. This
is his family.
    Once I've looked at
all of the photos, I circle back around to the first one. I take it
into my hands and pull myself up onto the bed, wondering why Lucian
tore himself out of the photo...or if that's even him. It wouldn't
make sense that it would be the picture he kept on his bedside table
if it weren't him though. Perhaps they got into a fight, and he
decided to destroy the picture.
    My mind goes over
various scenarios of why the pictures are still in the room. Perhaps
they're having marital problems and are on a break. In that case,
I've just been something to tide him over until she returns. That
wouldn't explain why he works at Flesh though. Maybe she doesn't even
know about it.
    I hear the front
door close, and my name being called. I don't move. I want Lucian to
see me like this, to realize that I found him out.
    The time for
pondering is over. I grasp the picture tightly as Lucian's footsteps
draw closer, coming down the hall. Every few feet, he calls my name.
Maybe he thinks I tried to sneak out the backdoor. He's going to be
sorely mistaken. I can only imagine that once he finds me with the
pictures, he's going to wish I had sneaked out. If he thought there
was any chance of salvaging what we had, this should be proof that
there's not.
    "There you..."
Lucian's chipper voice quickly fades as he realizes I'm holding one
of the pictures.
    It takes everything
in me to still the trembling that wants to break free to the surface.
I'm getting upset, and I don't even know why. Somehow, I think I knew
he was married all along. He's too gorgeous not to be. But at the
same time, I just feel so horrible for everything we've done.
    Lucian takes long
strides across the room. I expect him to speak—perhaps to yell
at me—but he says nothing. Far more gently than I could have
ever imagined, he takes the picture from my hands, then sits beside
me, staring down at it. His thumb lazily brushes over the empty spot
where he should have been.
    I feel like I
shouldn't be watching this, like this is some secret intimate moment
not meant for my eyes. Then again, none of this was meant for my
eyes. That's why the pictures were turned down in the first place.
    The room is so
silent it's almost maddening. I wait for him to speak, for him to say
anything. He doesn't though, and when I look over at him, I can see
that he's completely fixated on the picture, the muscles in his jaw
tensed.
    "She's your
wife," I offer. "The little boy is your son."
    "Yes." He
reaches across me to set the picture back down on his bedside table.
    The knot in my chest
gives way to hollowness. His admission makes me feel like the worst
person in the world though deep down I know it's not my fault. Had I
know he was married, I never would have slept with him. Still, there
are some questions that beg to be answered.
    "Does she know
about us? Does she know about the things you do?" I can't even
look at him when I ask.
    He takes a deep
breath. "I imagine she does. She knows everything I do."
    "And she
doesn't care?" I furrow my eyebrows in disbelief.
    He licks his lips,
staring at the picture. The subject obviously makes him incredibly
uncomfortable.
    "She's an
angel," he says.
    "I imagine so.
She'd have to be to put up with your shit," I huff,