Page 6 of Make Me A Sinner
-Set-
I'm not planning a grand entrance. I leave the car nearly a mile away, just behind the hill where I can see the house.
I don't want her to know I’m here, not yet, anyway. I'm still not sure if I’m prepared to face her without killing her, and I know it will take every last ounce of my strength to try and calm myself down.
A slight breeze drifts in from the east, so I find cover behind some trees in the west. I don't want her to be aware of my presence. Not before I am strong enough to face her. Roughing that guy up back in the store got my blood pumping a little too much for both of our sakes.
Half an hour later, I see her leaving the house and my fucking head starts spinning. She's even more beautiful than I remembered her, like a figment of my imagination, just too good to be real. She’s wearing a pale pink summer dress, her long golden hair tumbles over her shoulders in thick curls, like she just stepped out of a painting, her blue eyes; the exact color of the sky. I'm almost breathless, I can hear my fucking heartpulsing in my ears and my mind ignores any other thought except the ones ofher.
I need to haveher.
I need toownher.
I can barely control myself from going straight there and ignore all other plans, especially when I see her looking my way, without really seeing me. My presence is shielded by a small grove of ancient olive trees and a line of cypress that forms a narrow alley. I still take a step back—just in case—but the second my foot hits the ground, I step on something and almost lose my balance. I don’t even get to turn and check before a loud meow cuts through the air.
A fucking cat almost blew my cover. I curse through my teeth as the damn thing starts rubbing on my legs—as if I didn’t nearly kill it a second ago.
“Mr. Cat?” Serena calls, alerted by the meow.
Fuck, the cat won’t stop rubbing on me. I have to keep the damn thing quiet before she comes looking for him. I’m not going to smother a cat to death—as much as this one tests me. It’s bad luck. So, the only thing I can think about is scooping him in my arms.
The bastard immediately starts purring, rubbing itself on me like this isn’t our first date, and shedding all over my clothes, inconsiderate to the fact that I’m wearing a white shirt while he’s all black—except for the white balls, which make him look like an 8 Ball in pool. That should be his real name—“8 Ball.” At least that gets my mind off things for a second, and my urge to start the Apocalypse is somehow diminished. Not like it’d be the first time I started one anyway.
But I’m here for Selena and not the cat, so my attention goes back to her. I think she’s lost even more weight. That bothers the hell out of me. And judging by the look on her face, running awaydidn't seem to make her as happy as she might have thought. She seems off, like her body is here, but her mind’s somewhere else.
I'm playing with my patience, testing myself to the very last limit as she walks into a small vegetable garden just a few feet away from me, and picks some tomatoes. Long strands of hair fall over her shoulders, almost touching the ground. My jaw tightens, wanting to get my hands around them. But that would lead to something else entirely. And she needs to be punished. I’m done playing nice just to avoid hurting her. That ship had sailed the moment she didn't give a fuck about hurting me.
Thinking she's all alone makes her less careful about how her dress rides up on her hips as she leans to pick a few cucumbers off the ground. The image awakens something so primal within me that I nearly lose it. The exposed tanned skin, the swollen breast peaking from the top, and the small beads of sweat dripping off her forehead under the summer sun. All meant to test me.
I could fuck her right then and there. I bet she’d be too shocked to fight back. But I need to see her anxiety taken to the extreme. To taste her fear. To break her until she’d understand what she did to me.
I let her return to the house without compromising my presence. I can see everything she’s doing through the ceiling-high windows. She spends almost the rest of the day like a ghost haunting the place, without properly finding a spot for herself. She picks up a magazine, which she quickly tosses back on the counter, then peels an apple, which she doesn't eat, then goes out and picks some flowers that she arranges in a vase for over an hour. All her actions tell me one thing—she's not at peace.
It's almost dark outside, and I’m beginning to lose my patience from all the waiting. I haven't seen her in almost an hour. I start thinking she's probably gone to sleep and get ready to pay her a visit just as I see her silhouette appear in the kitchen. Shewasn't sleeping. Probably just got out of the shower because she returns wearing one of those over-the-knee silk nightshirts half-buttoned at the top, enough too catch the plump shape of her breasts. Her sunkissed hair’s up in a messy bun, a few fugitive strands falling down on her face while she’s just pours herself a glass of wine. Of course, she had to go full dramatic, completing the Italian look to fit into the picture. And she nailed it. She's fucking stunning.
I still don't see her eating anything. And that racks my nerves, but I'll take care of that problem as soon as we’re back in Vegas.
She steps slowly onto the terrace and sinks into a rattan sofa. I think that's her spot since I see her instantly relaxing, placing the glass of wine on the ground next to her as she prepares to watch the sky. The cat shows up, padding onto the wooden terrace and curling in her lap like he's finally finding his way back to his master. Serena starts petting him while she’s staring at the night sky, her gaze lost as if she’s drowning in the depths of the night, like she's searching for something up there—maybe a memory that could bring her peace.
She should’ve known better—there’s no peace left for either of us.
I finally consider myself calm enough to face her. Going around the house, I slip in through the front door, placing the earring box on a pedestal next to a vase. There’s no way she’d miss seeing it there.
I get back outside only to find her arms wrapped around herself while her eyes are tightly closed, like she's dreaming of something. I wish it was me, but I know better than to fool myself. She wouldn't have walked away if that were true.
There’s still a slight breeze coming from the east, tamer than earlier, but still enough to carry my scent away as I move on the east side of the garden. And I see her catch it instantly. She's on her feet in a heartbeat, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. Ican see her panicking, eyes darting around the place like she’d seen a ghost. But after scanning her surroundings, she convinces herself it's just her imagination.
Imagine the surprise when she finds out how wrong she is.
It doesn't take long before she goes inside, slowly advancing through the rooms until she reaches the main lobby. I follow her, but remain in the shadows and let her discover her surprise on her own. I can see her freeze as she spots the box, her skin going as white as the paint on the wall the second she picks it up and opens it.
Her chest rises and falls beneath the silk, and she turns slowly, like she's expecting to see me behind her. But I don't show myself. It would be to early–too easy for her. I want to mess with her mind, just like she did with mine.
"Set?" She half-stutters my name, her voice quivering, and her hands shaking like leaves in the wind. I stay silent, remaining on the far side of the hallway, just as a slight breeze from an open window carries my scent to her again.
I can see her eyes instantly widen with shock and an insane level of fear. She knows what she did. And she knows what the consequences are for betraying me.
That’s when panic kicks in, her pupils dilating, her gestures almost erratic. With shivering limbs, she throws the earrings back on the pedestal and runs back through the door that leads to the kitchen, then out on the terrace.
