The Not So Secret Life of Helena Callahan III

The Not So Secret Life of Helena Callahan (book three).
Prologue:

NO ONE ANNOYED ME LIKE HE DID.

Rolling my eyes back into my skull, I tactfully ignored whatever smartass remark he had undoubtedly just made, because it only fuelled the blaze within me. It was always the same thing—always. Not bothered for his bullshit, I sunk deeper into our red silk bed sheets. After all, I guess we made this bed together.

My Maker waved his hands in the air, hastily slapping them against his sides. “Unbelievable,” he shook his head, dressing as he spoke. “You’re not even listening!”

I gave him a flat look. “Do you want to know why I’m not listening?” I jumped out of bed, wrapping the bed sheet over my naked body, as though he didn’t already know me inside and out. “It’s because you don’t fucking give, Darien!”

He seemed insulted. “I don’t give?” he repeated. “That’s not what you were moaning in my ear a moment ago, sweetheart.” The pet-name on the end of his sentence smoothed out his words, but they were still coming from his arrogant lips. “You want the world, Helena,” he hesitated. “You’re too high maintenance.”

“I’m high maintenance?” My mouth fell open. “How dare you?!”

“What?” he spoke animatedly; waving his hands in pure frustration. “It’s true, you’re so self-centred. You don’t care about anything besides what you want.”

“Fine,” I caved, opening the dresser and throwing out my clothing—every single thing he’d bought me, onto the floor. Hell, maybe I should just leave here naked, and show him how low maintenance I am!

Darien pressed his fingers to his eyebrows. “What are you doing, Helena?”

“I’m doing you a favour,” I snapped, still throwing my clothes onto the floor, forming a messy pile in the middle of our room. “I’m moving out.”

Darien picked up my clothes, repacking them just as quickly as I could throw them out, but eventually he broke too. “Fine,” he pulled out the entire draw, swiftly adding to my growing clothes-pile. “Let’s all throw clothes around! That will help!”

“You know what would help?” I got in his face. “Telling people about us!”

“Oh, yeah,” he moved away from me, swiftly whipping out a cigarette and sparking it up. “Let’s tell everyone I’m dating the stripper!”

“Don’t you even go there,” I shook my head, packing my clothes in a bag.

“Trust me, I’m not going to go there,” he continued, taking cheap jabs at my career choice. “Do you think I want to see that shit?”

“Well, you certainly weren’t complaining about seeing ‘that shit’ a few moments ago, were you?” I threw my bag, and pushed him. “Were you?!”

“Fuck this!” Darien shoved me backward, not nearly as roughly as I had pushed him, but still—it hurt my pride. Then, he grabbed his leather coat from behind the door and shouted, “You better be gone by the time I get back!” He slammed the door shut, making my fangs extend in sheer fury.

I hated him.

Copyright © 2011 Emma Lowe.