Page 49 of The Kiss Of Death
“So it means this is valuable to you, in some way.”
It wasn’t. I only needed to have the confirmation. To move on once and for all.
“You were my mother’s favorite. It’s about time you prove yourself worthy of being her student, don’t you think?”
She nodded. “I’ll help you. I know how it is to seek closure with losing a parent.”
“You and I are nothing alike.”
“We both lost our—”
“No.” I took a threatening step toward her. “You were loved and cherished, a little princess guarded safely in heaven. We’re nothing alike.”
Her eyes roamed over mine as if they were open wounds. “What happened to you?”
“Is this when I tell you about my heartbreaking, unloving backstory, and you realize I indeed have a soul and need saving?”
“I won’t pity you, but maybe I can understand you,” she whispered. “I seek freedom the same way you seek control. I’m loved, it’s true, but I was caged all my life. I wasn’t allowed to do things like other kids my age. I grew up thinking that I was a drag for everyone. It’s not a beautiful life, Levi.” Her eyes locked on the void again. “Everyone dies around me, but I continue to live for some reason. I feel lonely, just like you. But I’ll never bow to you, Levi. I want to exist on my own. I want to try.”
Pain masked her features, and a part of me understood her. Surviving tragedies. That was why I came here. Because I knew that it could be all over in a matter of seconds. Not that anyone would miss my existence; they’d probably even have a bonfire to celebrate my death.
I hummed, plucking one of the pink ribbons that tied her hair. I wanted it, so I took it, having no interest in rehashing my childhood. One side of her hair flowed freely, and I slid the ribbon onto my wrist. It felt like another handcuff added to my collection.
“I wonder, do I haunt you?”
“No,” she denied a bit too quickly, betraying the dark truth lurking underneath. “I’ll help you with Lucie’s composition, but that’s it.”
“You don’t make the rules,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “You’ll also play the music for me when I ask you to.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. “I’m not your music slave.”
“Not yet,” I replied with a sly grin, snagging a loose strand of her white hair and twirling it around my finger, drawing her nearer. “Be glad you have an audience who appreciates your exquisitely dark and sad melodies. After all, the violin was once known as the devil’s instrument, and you, my dear Dalia, are as divine as you are chaotic.”
Every time she’d grab a violin, she’d think of me. She’d see me watching her. She wasn’t much different from Paganini—the violinist rumored to murder women and use their intestines as violin strings. He imprisoned their souls, their screams echoing from within his violin. But Dalia imprisoned my ghosts and removed all the darkness from the world, just for me.
Her lips curled. “I accept.”
“Just like that?” I feigned surprise, letting go of her strand.
“Yes,” she said. “On one condition. If I succeed with the music scores, you’ll forgive me.”
She should have reached for a higher standard than forgiveness; she was a poor negotiator.
“Sure.”
Her chest rose and fell with each breath, her glossy pink lips shimmering. “So, what are we, friends?”
She’s never giving up.
An urge clawed at me, tempting me to sink my teeth into her lips and taste their sweetness. Those oversized eyes, framed by luscious lashes, fluttered like the wings of a trapped butterfly. I couldn’t help but notice every detail, every nuance of her, even the exact shade of green that adorned her eyes. I hated myself for it.
No, we’ll never be friends.
“More like each other’s dirty little secret,” I hissed, punctuating my words by pressing her against a phoenix gargoyle.
She bit her lips.
“Did you ever kiss someone else after me?” I prodded.
