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“You need to eat,” I mumbled, stuffing my hands in the front pockets of my trousers, hiding the tremor that wouldn’t stop. The entire bottle of vodka last night did nothing to appease the monster living inside of me, and it only relented after I unlocked the door of the room where she slept, watching the slow rise and fall of her shoulders as she dreamt of nothing.
Evelyn shook her head, her eyes downcast, before she said, “No,” defiantly, reminding me of Ophelia more than ever. “I need to go home.”
“You can’t,” I blurted out, panic clawing at my throat at the mere thought of her being alone out there. “You can’t leave.”
Her right eyebrow lifted up, pure fury blazing through her eyes, stirring a similar response in me.
“You can’t keep me here.”
“Can’t I?” I asked, smirking at her shocked expression. “It is obvious that you already know who I am.” She said nothing, but the tightening of her lips was indication enough to see she most definitely knew. “Then you also know, angel, that I can’t let you go, no matter what.”
“Will you kill me?” she asked, not an ounce of fear in her voice, but her eyes told a different story. They told me she didn’t want to be here, that she'd rather be anywhere else than locked in here with me, but she didn’t have a choice.
We both knew she didn’t have a choice.
I shrugged. “Maybe. It’s still left to be seen.”
I didn’t want her to know how much I struggled just thinking of hurting her, when all I wanted to do was to take her to my room and hide her from the rest of the world. I didn’t need to have a full background check on her to know that she'd been through some shit in her life.
Misery recognized misery, and the stench of hers almost drove me insane, needing to replace it with something better, something brighter that she could hold onto, if only to forget all those miserable moments that still clung to her skin.
I knew what it was like trying to run away from the darkness seeping through every crevice of your body, taking over, whispering filthy words into your ear, mocking you, telling you that nothing you do would ever be enough. She could hide her body from me, her need, but the emotions reflected in her eyes told a story of suffering, of pain so deep, and I wanted to wrap my hands around the source, eradicating it from her body.
Jesus, I couldn’t be thinking like this. I didn’t have time for this, not with Tristan running around my city, causing havoc wherever he went.
“If you’re not going to kill me,” she started again, pulling me back from the haze, “then what am I doing here?”
I have no fucking idea, kitten. I have no fucking idea what I wanted to do with you here, but I couldn’t bear to see you walking out that door.
“That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”
The frown on her face deepened with every new word spoken by me, her arms crossed over her chest, her fingers digging into the skin at her upper arms, and I had a feeling that she wanted to smack me. But even if she wanted to kill me, even if her eyes told me that she wanted nothing to do with me, I couldn’t let her go.
I haven’t felt like this since… Since Ophelia. Since I realized that my blood hummed in pleasure every time she was around, and even back then, my reaction to her wasn’t like this. It didn’t feel as if an invisible band connected us, straining from the force of our separation. My body never wanted her in a way that it wanted Evelyn, and I had no idea what to do with this information.
Without waiting for another witty remark, for another poisonous spill from her lips, I turned around and walked toward the living room, straight to the bar. I poured myself a glass full of the whiskey I’d left standing on top, and it didn’t take her long to follow after me.
“It’s a bit early to start with that,” she admonished, her voice like a lullaby dragging over the monster's coat, calming me down.
I turned around, holding onto the glass of amber liquid as my eyes dragged over her form, her thick thighs and the smooth skin of her stomach where her shirt had ridden up, my mouth salivating at the mere thought of having her even for only one night.
“It’s happy hour somewhere in the world,” I grumbled, pressing the rim of the glass to my mouth, letting the bitter liquid coat my lips, hoping it would erase the taste of her that was so deeply etched into my memory now, and I knew—I fucking knew that no amount of alcohol would ever erase her from my mind.
Little did she know that I had drunk myself into stupor the moment Christian left last night, while I sat in front of her room, wishing to go inside, to look at her one more time, to hold her close.
She crossed the room with careful steps, like a kitten exploring her surroundings for the first time. Her eyes dragged over the furniture, over the windows on the opposite side, and finally landed on me. Question after question lingered in that gaze, but her lips stayed pressed into a thin line, refusing to voice them.
Evelyn was afraid of me, of my name, of who I was, but her curiosity was stronger than the fear that was so evident mere seconds ago. And instead of cowering in front of me, instead of trying her damndest to get out of here, she kept on walking toward me, her eyes never wavering from mine, drinking me in just as I was drinking her in.
“Don’t,” I rasped as she came too close for my liking, as her body stopped just a couple of inches away from mine. “Please.” My voice wavered when she didn’t listen, coming closer and closer and closer until she pressed her body to mine, looking up at me as if she was seeing me for the first time.
Her hand wrapped around the glass, covering my fingers with her own, when her mouth opened on a soft, shuddering exhale, her wide eyes drinking me in. “Why?” A simple question that didn’t have a simple answer.
Because I wanted her.
Because I never wanted to let her go.
Because the moment my lips had pressed against hers, it was as if she'd poured life inside of me, reminding me why I wanted to live.
