Page 126 of Bake the Town Red

When I showed up at Dahlia’s shop to walk her home, she was already outside, waiting for me on the sidewalk.

The second she saw me, she ran into my open arms with a wide smile. She smelled of copper, bleach, and a hint of something citrusy.

Her lips were red again. I ruined it for the second time that night at home. Devoured her in my living room, then in my shower.

I ignored the warning bells in my head.

Fate could be cruel. Fate could come to try me.

While I rubbed soap into every inch of her body—while I cleaned the dried blood beneath her fingernails—I decided I’d had it.

If someone or something ever tried separating us, I’ll be ready. No man, woman, or any other being could take her from me. Dahlia could snap like Ian had andraise a knife to my throat, and I’d welcome it. I’d fuck her hard, spank her to tears. I’ll even let her cut me.

I’d done that. I liked it.

Other than that, all I could do was stalk her. Make sure she has everything she needs. That she’s healthy and well and no freak accident will rip her from me.

Even when she’s back at work, like she is this morning.

But death? One of us going while the other stayed on this planet?

Fuck no. That wouldn’t happen.

Worst case is I’d follow her to the depths of hell. I wouldn’t hesitate for a second.

My eyes scan my empty apartment, though I’m not alone. Wherever Dahlia is, whatever she’s doing, she’s mine.

The tattoo on her breast says asmuch. As well as the chastity belt I put on her this morning.

And I’m hers.

She made sure I won’t ever forget that or her either—as if I could—leaving me a coffee cake on the counter and three yellow Post-its glued around the apartment. Quotes from “Think of Me” from Phantom of the Opera were her choice for today.

The first line is written on the Post-it on the dining table where I do most of my work

Second one is on the coffee table in the living room.

Third on the fridge.

The way I’m obsessed with her can’t be healthy. Can’t be stopped.

It’s worse than before.Betterthan before. Dahlia Valentine is a cold I don’t ever want to recover from.

The thought has my lips ticking up. The screen of my laptop has to be shocked at the gesture. I can count on one hand the number of times it’s witnessed me wearing a genuine smile.

This time, I’m not going to fuck this up. Nothing is going to fuck it up.

Remember the last time you were that happy?

The stupid voice to fuck me over. I won’t let it.

I won’t.

Just to tell that voice how much I don’t care what it says, I go back to when we were happy. To the months between her eighteenth birthday and…Ian.

To spite it.

Because I can do it. I can remember and I’ll be fine.

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