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also a hideous bitch, so that makes it hard to feel too bad about it.  
    I busy myself with work, trying not to think about it. But I can’t help it. My mind keeps drifting, thinking about Lazarus’s lies. Another man full of lies. Just like my father. Every time my folks hit their fourth Jack and Coke, Mom’s jealous accusations would fly. There was never any doubt they were true. Dad was a womanizer. In the end, the two of them threw so many glasses in those fights that they ended up having to drink whiskey out of plastic cups.  
    I realize that I have no clue what a healthy relationship even looks like. All I ever saw at home was co-dependence and rage. It makes me wonder what it is exactly that I want from Lazarus? What good could possibly come from falling in love with someone both unavailable and slightly deranged? Is that what I wanted for myself? To win him from Celestina only to have him fuck around behind my back? Like mother like daughter.  
    Late in the afternoon, Lazarus still hasn’t returned. I run out of busywork to do, so I pull out a pad of paper and begin to work on some of my own designs. I sketch out an idea I’ve had for a while, a living design for an exterior space, with organically formed structures and a garden that would naturally integrate humming birds into its function by planting a very specific garden. For the first time since college, I lose myself in my own creative work. I experiment and brainstorm until I find the right elements to fill my space. My mind runs free and I forget all about Lazarus and Celestina and Captain and my whole sad life. And for the first time in ages I actually feel happy.  
    By the time I’ve finished sketching, it’s well past closing. Outside, the sky is dark and the building lights twinkle in the night. I sit back and press the heels of my hands to my eyes, which are stinging from so much focus. It’s been a long day and I didn’t sleep a wink the night before. I’m suddenly aware of how exhausted I am. For once, I want to go to bed without messed up thoughts lingering in my mind, invading my dreams.  
    I grab my bag and turn off the desk lamp, standing up for the first time in hours. My legs are stiff and my back aches. All I want to do is get back to my car and go to sleep. When I step out of my claustrophobic little hovel, I catch my breath. Lazarus is standing in the doorway of his office, arms crossed over his chest, staring at me. My heart lurches.  
    “Michaela,” he murmurs, a strange threat in his voice. “Why do you have to make everything so fucking hard?”

Chapter Seven

    “Stay where you are,” Lazarus commands gruffly.  
    His expression is all shadows; his eyes are flat and emotionless. They’re filled with the dispassionate hunger of a wolf stalking its prey, functioning on pure instinct. Unstoppable. My heart hammers violently against my ribcage, as if wanting to escape. This is not the Lazarus I’m in love with. This one terrifies me. Yet he overwhelms me with confusing desire.  
    Lazarus slips off his sports coat and drops it on the ground. I stare at the flawless shape of his body in those tailored clothes. The shoulders. That chest. Those abs. I think of it pressed up against me the other night. I want it again. But I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.  
    “Lazarus, what…”  
    “No talking.”  
    He slowly crosses the room and I know there is no escape. I’m his trapped rabbit and he’s coming for me. Why is he doing this? Where’s the kind, compassionate Lazarus who came to my rescue in the street? Who took my battered friend to the hospital?   Is he certifiably insane? It is like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He is the cruel, lustful Lazarus. The dysfunctional one. The frightening one. I drop my purse.  
    “Turn around,” he orders.  
    I obey, just like I did when my dad would give me a beating. It never even occurred to me to fight back. Lazarus approaches me from behind, grabbing me hard by the waist