Page 47 of Deadly Knight
I follow.
Every man Katya shows an interest in, I have looked into. For her safety, of course, exactly as she’s requested of me. She wants safety, and if not with me, she’ll damn well get it.
Knowing he works in the same place as Katya will make learning who he is entirely too easy for Lev. There are only a handful of male staff working there, so it’s a matter of searching through the list for the one I don’t recall from my last check of the centre’s staffing.
For now, I want to see where he lives. The place a person chooses to make home tells a lot about them.
He walks a few blocks before turning the corner and taking another direction. I track the length of time it takes from her place to his, the fact she might be walking it one day slowly peeling away my soul until I’m hit with another wave of murderous fantasies.
He stops in front of a fairly modern apartment complex. The brick is bright and unstained with age, and the many lights currently on are bright. Nothing run-down, so at least he spends his money wisely.
I wait until he enters before crossing the street to observe the building, scanning for which window gets newly lit up. He could very well live on the opposite side, but I wait to see if that’s the case.
On the floor third from the top, right in the centre, a light turns on and a figure moves through the space, shedding his sweater before jerking the curtains shut and blocking my view.
Next: a name.
I’ve beeninside Katya’s apartment before, but only while she’s at work, never willing to risk being inside while she’s home.
It was a few weeks after she moved in and I bought the place when I first dropped in, unable to help myself. I longed to see how she decorated and organized the space; how her personality emerged without her parents’ influence.
It was quaint. Cozy. Mismatched furniture, a puzzle partially finished on the living room table, bed unmade. Small touches of her spread throughout, to the posters she had on her walls and the spilled coffee on the counter from her urgency to leave that morning.
Is it strange to say I fell in love with an apartment?
I did. Imagining her there made me smile. Her cooking in the small kitchen, lounging on the couch while rewatching all her favourite shows that originally aired when we were together, and curling up in bed, cozy, safe, and comfortable.
Her citrus scent was imprinted on every inch of the space. I wanted to roll around in it like a dog, to leave with her on my skin. Instead, I limited myself to the occasional touch of an item.
Since then, I visit every once in a while, thanks to the master key ownership of the building has given me. The more I do it, the more I grow addicted to being there. Taking the apartment beneath hers means limiting my stop-ins in case other residents spot me and grow suspicious. If she ever found me inside, there’s no explanation I could give to make it right in her eyes.
After returning from my trip to see where the asshole lives, her lights are off, suggesting she’s in bed. I wait a bit longer to ensure she’s asleep before riding the elevator to her floor. She’s the third door on my right and I slip the key inside the lock,cracking it open slowly while listening for signs of her being awake.
It might be idiocy driving me to this, or perhaps jealousy, but after everything I witnessed tonight—every ounce of pain she wrought from my bones—I need toseeher.
Her sweet scent lingers in the air, and I follow it through her apartment and down the short hallway that connects to her bedroom. Her door is parted a few inches, so after a brief check she’s asleep, I enter.
Katya’s passed out on her stomach, her head in the mound of pillows. I’d worry about suffocation if I wasn’t familiar with her preferred sleeping position. Simply one of many things I love about her.
I tread slowly, eyes adjusting to the darkness while carefully stepping around clothes strewn on the floor until reaching her bedside, coming within touching distance twice in the same night.
I should leave. Instead, I lower to my knees.
For every reason I long to and every reason I should go away, I remain. My hand stretches towards her cheek, hesitating for a mere second before touching heaven once more. A sigh works through my body, the sensation of being home for the first time in a decade. It takes biting the inside of my cheek before my sound of pleasure slips out. The ribbon around my wrist hangs, brushing her chin as though greeting its owner, the girl whom it shouldn’t have ever been separated from.
If she were to open her eyes right now, she’d spot me. She’d realize I’m not keeping my promises, and would beg me to leave. Perhaps would even phone the cops. At this point, I’d hand her my gun and have her shoot me, to end my life, before she can hate me.
I couldn’t possibly handle her hate. For her to look at me with the ghostly fears of that fateful night ten years ago.
Her skin is so fucking soft. Like death itself, I imagine, if death were to come by her hand. I’d willingly kill myself, if only to feel this again and again.
“Fuck, I miss you, Katya.” The words escape my mouth, imprinting on her bedroom walls where she’ll forever have them repeated back while being unable to hear them.
I pinch strands of silk between my fingers, losing myself in the memories of her in my bed, hair strewn on my pillow. For days following her stay, I’d find her strands in my bed.
She sighs in her sleep, making the same noises she did the last time I held her, when her head rested on my heart and she could feel the very part of me she’d always get to claim as hers.
Years and years of memories rush in at once.
