Was it a bad habit? I wasn’t sure. I was made of chaos and rot, after all. Nothing was good if it came from me. So I supposed it was a bad habit then…to watch people like a creep.
But humans were so fascinating, you see. Especially when they didn’t know they were being watched. When they moved differently, freely, carelessly.
I liked guessing things about them. Who was loved. Who was lonely. Who amongst them would go back to an empty house, disappear in the bathroom and cry their lungs out.
I liked how some looked fragile, breakable, like a glass. And I found myself wondering, not if they would hurt, but how loud they could scream, how long it would take until they stopped fighting.
Taking in a deep breath, I watched my fingers twitch before wrapping around the half-empty glass of wine placed on the flat top of the silver railing. I had been standing at the balcony of Callan’s room for long, maybe hours, just watching the soldiers below, carving their skull open with a stare, hoping I could peek into their brains, pick their thoughts apart, learn what made each break the most.
Watching was so much fun.
I lifted my glass, and what was left of the liquid disappeared behind my lips within seconds. I pulled the glass away from my mouth, my brows furrowing at the emptiness, the corner of my lips twitching in what seemed like a frown.
I was unsatisfied. I needed more. My nerves had been all over the place since yesterday. There was a fragile, breakable thing under my roof. A human I really detested. Someone I desperately wanted to ruin. And it was hard staying up here, fighting the urge to end her when her scent had begun to permeate the walls, a flowery, suffocating thing.
I needed to calm down. I needed to prove to Callan that I stayed out of her lane, and that she was the one that came to me. And only a drink could attempt to calm me down. It was hardly working, though. It was just a tiny form of distraction.
Lifting my body off the railing, I exited the balcony, the warmth of the room wrapping around me too quickly.
The bottle of whiskey sat on the coffee table, the amber liquid gleaming, inviting, and my throat worked like I had been starving for it.
I poured until my glass was half-filled, ready to return to the balcony to continue my…experiment.
But I had barely straightened when a knock came on the door–soft, hesitant, almost as if the person at the other end was afraid the door would shatter like glass if they knocked too hard.
Finally.
Fucking finally.
Something rotten and hot stirred in my chest at the idea of the entity behind that door, that fragile thing that dared to wage war against my existence.
Elizabeth.
I had recognised her at first glance yesterday, standing by the roadside, wind in her fiery hair, brows pinched in a tiny frown as she waited for Callan to come and save her. Little did she know the man that came wasn’t her dainty prince charming, but something else.
When the soldiers ushered them into the car, she had flushed red, just the way she did that day at the coffee shop, a soft,hi, leaving her lips.
How could I forget that face? Once upon a time, she had been my perfect prey. And I had wanted nothing but to crush her under the weight of my fingers then. Make her cry and beg to be spared, but I wouldn’t stop until her blood seeped into the cracks of the earth and light left those pretty eyes.
I wasn’t surprised that the girl who unknowingly fell into the edge of my cruel fascination then was the same one that had stolen my brother’s fragile heart. Nature had a way of appeasing to me like that. Because even nature knew I had been greatly wronged.
Three days ago, I had walked right out of my prison when Callan was asleep, exhausted, dark circles resting under his eyes, unable to fight me.
I didn’t have to beg, didn’t have to rip his skull in halves before making it through. I just slipped out…like a fucking dream.
Then, last night, and the night before that, blood clung to my skin like red roses blooming in snow. It was on my face, buried deep under my nails, on my fucking tongue, a metallic burst of flavour that fed the ravenous monsters in my head.
But I was merely telling lies if I said I wasn’t getting bored of that. When you ate the same thing over and over again, you would tend to get tired like that.
But today, there would be a difference. My meal was coming with an appetiser that I couldn’t wait to taste.
I had sworn not to touch her when Callan confronted me. I had promised not to hunt her, to stay in my lane. And I did. See how she walked to me, dangling herself outside my den like a fucking bait.
“Come in.” I sat down on the leather chair, taking a slow sip of my wine as I watched the door creaking open.
My pulse hummed as her feet padded against the floor ever so daintily, then she shut the door behind her before making it fully into the room.
She looked around a bit, eyes lingering for a second too long on every detail, as if committing all to memory.
