Page 14 of The Ripper

What’s been eating at you?

When she went to the toilet, I casually picked up the notebook and opened it to the first page. Right there, at the bottom, was written: “If found, please return to Arella Santino” and underneath was her fucking phone number.

I already had it, but I still took a photo of the page because I wanted a piece of her writing, then I closed the notebook and put it back exactly as it was.

Arella.

Her name meant messenger of God, an angel, and that’s exactly what she was. Sort of like a ray of light in a black sea.

I swallowed audibly when I took another look at the woman who just came back from the bathroom.

Her hands were wet, and she began to rummage in her handbag for a tissue. After drying off, she sprayed her hands with a lemon-scented hand sanitizer and rubbed it in, then applied a lemon-scented hand cream. I bet she used a lemon body wash too.

I had smelled it on her before, and it became clear that she loved everything lemon, from scents, to gelato.

I smiled to myself.

Fucking lemons.

When she noticed me staring, a light blush crept up her neck and cheeks, then she threw the travel-sized items back in her bag.

“I’m sorry. I’m a bit of a hygiene Nazi. Does the scent bother you?” she asked, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth after speaking, trapping it between her teeth, and my eyes narrowed in on the movement.

I blinked away the fascination, struggling to regain some composure as I decided to answer her.

“It doesn’t bother me” I reassured her, and she nodded as she reached for her book, but I wanted to keep talking to her, “business or pleasure?”

Jesus Christ, every word that fell out of my mouth sounded so fucking awkward it made me cringe, but at least I’d managed to make her smile.

“Both I guess, I start an internship on Monday,” she smiled, “and you?”

“I’m returning home,” I replied, biting the inside of my cheek as I tried to think of something to say.

It didn’t come as easily as it had when I was wearing a mask, and I sucked at small talk.

“What position?” I blurted, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise as a light brush crept up her cheeks.

She turned her head to the side, averting her eyes from me as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The corner of my lip slightly tilted in a smirk as I reveled in the reaction I managed to rip out of her.

“I’m sorry, what?” Arella asked after she regained her composure, thighs pressing together as she shifted in her seat.

“I meant which position did you apply for?” I clarified, tapping my fingers on my leg as I struggled not to brush them over her cheek.

Her eyes brightened, and the hint of a smile ghosted my lips as I took in that happiness that drew me in the first time. How?

“At Northwestern Memorial Hospital; I’m a doctor, or at least I’m going to be one if all goes well,” she began, then proceeded to tell me more about her job.

I just sat there and listened to everything I already knew about her, since I asked my hacker to find out the internships she applied for and made sure she got the one in Chicago, so as to bring her closer to me. I’d meddled with her life for selfish reasons, as I also got her rejected from all the others.

Arella was beautiful every day, in every scenario, even when she cried or when she was angry, but there was something unmistakably pure about her beauty when she was happy. Nothing compared to the little sparkles in her eyes when she spoke about the things she loved, or to the bright, sincere smile she displayed when she talked about her goals.

Nothing even came close.

There was no doubt in my mind that Arella Santino didn’t just look like an angel, but she actually was one.

What kind of fucked-up game was fate playing at? Why had it brought a woman who saved lives into the hands of a man who took them? What was the point?

Questions piled up in my brain as I listened to her talk, and suddenly, the three-hour flight was worth the pain of the uncomfortable seats. Even though I knew I couldn’t be with her.

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