Three words: I hate him. No matter how desperately I strive to distance myself, he remains an ever-present, clingy, and controlling presence. I foolishly believed I could endure his constant intrusion, but he possesses no concept of personal boundaries. Relentlessly, he pleads for even the slightest inkling of kindness, begging for a modicum of remorse. I despise his jet-black hair, his hazel eyes, his towering figure, his voice, his abysmal fashion sense, his repugnant personality, and his suffocating separation anxiety. I yearn to escape his grasp, to break free from his clutches. Yet, against my better judgment, I made a promise, and despite my proclivity for breaking vows, this is not one I intend to shatter.
Regrettably, it has only been a single day since I arrived here, and I already find myself questioning my sanity. Angelo, without a doubt, is driving me to the brink of madness, and his obsessively devoted bodyguard isn't any better. That man is always present, lurking in the periphery, watching my every move like a relentless police canine. If I dare to sit on the couch, he positions himself in the corner of the kitchen. If I attempt to prepare a meal, he sprawls across the couch, eyes fixed upon me. Even within the confines of my borrowed bedroom, he stands sentinel outside the door, ears attuned to my slightest sound. The only respite I find is during sleep, while changing clothes, or when I seek refuge in the shower. Being in close proximity to Angelo is unbearable, but I can honestly say that Luca, with his predatory gaze, exacerbates the situation. It should be the reverse, but that's the reality I face. I'm well aware of his deep animosity towards me, given my previous actions of pushing him into the lake and attempting to harm Angelo. However, a part of me can't help but feel that he's taken his vendetta one or two steps too far. How on earth am I expected to endure a week in this household, trapped with a man obsessively fixated on me and another who likely views me as some sort of malevolent creature?
When I state my intention to kill Luca rather than Angelo, rest assured that I am deadly serious. All this man seems capable of is incessantly watching, observing, and passing judgment, as if I'm on the brink of decapitating Angelo at any given moment. In just two short hours, I have endured no less than twelve disdainful glances from him. He scrutinizes me, his eyes scanning over me with the judgment of a self-righteous teenage girl, only to turn away with a disdainful shake of his head, clearly disappointed in Angelo's choice of company. Frankly, I find myself equally disappointed in Angelo's decision to employ such a bodyguard. Luca's presence is suffocating, making me feel more uncomfortable than words can adequately convey.
I lounged on the couch, my body sprawled out, one arm casually slung over the backrest, and a soft blanket draped lazily over my legs. With a flick of the remote, I switched the TV channel to the news, my preferred form of entertainment; breaking news, to be exact. And what was the news about? None other than yours truly and the three unfortunate souls I dispatched just three days prior. The reporter, wearing a mask of concern and sadness, struggled to hold back tears as she mentioned their names, as if one of the victims was her own flesh and blood. Perhaps one of them was, but why should I care? Roman O'Quinn, Zack Hampton, and Damian Whittaker; these were the names she uttered. They were nothing more than three bullies who tormented a teenage boy, the only person who had the audacity to say those rare words, "Thank you for helping me." I've never been thanked before, as those I defend often end up cowering in fear of me. Whether they're terrified or not is inconsequential to me. What truly mattered three days ago was the fleeting sense of happiness I felt when that boy expressed his gratitude for my protection. I'm fairly certain I allowed a smile to grace my lips in response, although the memory is hazy. Smiling is not something I do often; after all, I haven't found a reason to do so.
Since the day my parents were ruthlessly taken from me when I was merely 19 years old, I've become a stranger to smiles, to happiness, to any emotion other than numbness. The last time I recall my lips curling into a smile was on that fateful day preceding Halloween, just before their lives were snuffed out. They praised my Halloween costume, a bat, and I remember vividly the shiny, form fitting black dress that grazed my knees, the sleeveless design, the black bat like wings sprouting from my back, and the hairband adorned with bat ears. It was a day that remains etched in my memory as one of the few moments I truly felt joy. Little did I know that the following day would shatter my world, leaving my heart forever broken. Ever since that day, my sole purpose has been to protect those who find themselves in dire need, relentlessly questioning my victims about my parents, only to discover that luck eludes me as they possess no knowledge of the truth. For seven long years, happiness has eluded me entirely. My existence has been consumed by vengeance, protection, and unbridled anger. And that will never change until I bring justice to my parents, regardless of the sacrifices I must make along the way.
"Breaking news from New York City!" The reporter's voice boomed through the microphone, amplified to ensure her message reached every viewer tuned into the news broadcast. "The notorious Scarlet Serpent, the city's most feared serial killer, has struck again in the vicinity of New York Preparatory Academy, claiming the lives of three seventeen-year-old boys: Roman O'Quinn, Zack Hampton, and Damian Whittaker. Law enforcement authorities remain perplexed regarding the motive behind these killings, but they are actively engaged in the pursuit of the elusive Scarlet Serpent. Identified as 26-year-old Camila Vega, the perpetrator is described as having long black hair, often tied back in a ponytail, emerald green eyes, and standing at a height of 5 feet 8 inches. We urge all citizens to be vigilant and report any sightings or information to the local police department without delay."
The reporter paused, her breath momentarily caught in her chest, before resuming her delivery. As I observed her composed demeanor, a twisted part of me couldn't help but wonder about the myriad of reactions that unfolded across the faces of those watching the news. Shock, anger, and sorrow likely contorted the expressions of parents who recoiled at the mere mention of their children's names. After all, my name had become infamous throughout New York, synonymous with a ruthless legacy as the deadliest serial killer in history. Fear permeated the air, gripping the hearts of all who had heard of my heinous deeds. Even the police, charged with upholding law and order, harbored their own apprehension. They possessed a keen awareness of my capabilities, the darkness that resided within me, and they wanted no part in crossing paths.
"Recent sightings indicate that Camila was last seen at a criminal organization known as The Docks, situated along the Hudson River, where she allegedly attempted an attack on mafia boss Angelo Russo, who himself remains a fugitive. Angelo Russo, aged 28, possesses jet-black hair, hazel eyes, and towers at a height of 6 feet 2 inches. New Yorkers, we implore your assistance in bringing these criminals to justice. Please report any relevant information or sightings as soon as possible."
In that moment, the resounding thuds of purposeful footsteps reverberated throughout Angelo's apartment. I recognized them as Angelo's distinct footfalls, a stark contrast to the raucous cries of Luca, who bellowed in frustration at the barren fridge, demanding sustenance that it could not provide. The clamor grew louder as Angelo made his grand exit from his bedroom, the noise echoing through the space. A subtle tilt of his head around the corner revealed his curiosity, his attention inevitably drawn to the television. Undoubtedly, it was the mention of his name that prompted his emergence. Perhaps my name lingered in the air as well, but it was his inclusion in the news segment that piqued his fascination.
"You've made it to the news, have you?"
I snorted. "What's new? Being on the news is a regular occurrence for me, especially every time I decide to extinguish another life. By now, I'm amassed quite a reputation, with a staggering body count of 823 individuals. I'm practically a household name around here, albeit infamous rather than esteemed. Surprisingly enough, I even take a certain pride in it. Just three days ago, I claimed the lives of three boys, hence the newfound significance of my name. As for you, well, your claim to fame lies in being a mafia boss and a fugitive. Congratulations."
"Well, well, well. Would you look at that?" With a jaded indifference, I let out an exasperated sigh, accompanied by a subtle roll of my eyes. "Seems like I've made quite the impression, even on myself. Color me impressed, of course. Oh, and would you look at you, Camila? Making headlines too? Congratulations, I must admit I didn't pay much attention. Now, let's talk about the real deal. Are those keen investigators resorting to sniffing my discarded clothing in their desperate quest to track us down? If they are, I have to say it would be quite an honor. Such dedication from the authorities is almost commendable. Now, if you don't mind, move your sorry ass and make some room. I'd like to sit down, and for your information, you're hogging the entire blanket. I find that rather offensive, just so you know."
Reluctantly, I shifted my position slightly, allowing Angelo some space on the couch. Without hesitation, he plopped down beside me, his nonchalant demeanor evident as he casually draped both arms over the backrest and propped his legs up on the ottoman. It was then that I noticed his near-nakedness, his torso exposed as he sported nothing more than a revealing pair of shorts. I blinked in surprise, taken aback by the sight, and swiftly averted my gaze back to the TV screen. I did my best to ignore the scars etched across his body and the abundance of hair that adorned his legs.
"Oh, have you never had the pleasure of gracing the news before? I must say, I've lost count of the numerous occasions my name has been prominently featured. I make it a habit to keep myself well-informed, constantly tuning in to the news, and I can't recall a single instance where your name held any significance in their reports. Perhaps you're just too inconsequential to be deemed newsworthy."
"Firstly, ouch. Your attempt to belittle me is truly amusing, but rest assured, I am far from inconsequential. I am an individual of immense significance and power. Watch your words, Camila, for they may come back to haunt you. Secondly, I have made appearances on the news, albeit sparingly. However, my discretion and mysterious nature have shielded me from excessive media scrutiny. Unlike you, my life remains shrouded in secrecy. Lastly, stop hogging the damn blanket. It's freezing in here."
With an exasperated groan escaping my lips, accompanied by yet another dismissive roll of my eyes, I flung the entire blanket in Angelo's direction. He greedily snatched it up, covering himself entirely, tucking it beneath his chin while allowing his toes to protrude from the other end. Unfazed by his actions, I averted my gaze from him and shifted my attention to the television, changing the channel to a movie featuring the charismatic Chris Hemsworth.
Suddenly, as if summoned by some unseen force, a torrential downpour unleashed its fury upon the world outside. The rain hammered against every window of Angelo's apartment, the sound reverberating through the space as if a tempest had infiltrated our very midst. And then, in an instant, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the darkened sky beyond the window pane. The subsequent boom of thunder shook the room, causing me to visibly flinch.
In the kitchen, Luca's composure shattered as the deafening thunder rumbled through the air. Startled, he jumped back, his body recoiling a whole three feet. It was only a moment later that I realized I had instinctively pressed myself against Angelo, seeking some semblance of comfort and security. Thunderstorms held a special dread for me, especially the crashing sound of thunder itself. The day my parents were brutally taken from me, the thunder provided an eerie backdrop, as if in cruel harmony with the bullet that pierced my father's skull. These storms served as a haunting reminder, stirring up a deep-rooted fear, constantly replaying the tragic events of that fateful night when my parents met their demise.
In a swift motion, I distanced myself from Angelo as though the brief moment of vulnerability had never transpired. Thunderstorms had haunted me since my childhood, and the tragic loss of my parents only intensified my fear. It was always Mr. Ryuu who offered solace during these moments. I would curl up beside him, seeking the comfort that only he could provide. But now, Mr. Ryuu wasn't here. All that remained were Angelo and Luca, but I wasn't prepared to lean on either of them for comfort just yet.
"You're frightened, aren't you? Listen, Camila, I'm not here to pass judgment on you, believe me. I know all too well what occurred the day your parents were killed. A thunderstorm. It's understandable if thunderstorms trigger fear or anxiety. If it brings you comfort, you can have the blanket back. Honestly, I'm at a loss on how to help unless you're willing to open up."
"No, I'm perfectly fine," I lied. "I'm not scared, just caught off guard." Also a lie. "And no, I have no desire to reclaim that blanket. I highly doubt it's worth having, considering it's likely drenched in your sweat after you've been using it."
"Oh, spare me the theatrics, Camila. It's hardly as terrible as you're making it out to be. And let's get one thing straight: I don't sweat, or at least not excessively. Besides, I take great care in my grooming, wearing cologne that ensures I smell quite pleasant, thank you very much."
"I must admit, Angelo, you emit quite a strong scent. It's as if you douse yourself in an entire bottle of cologne, though I suppose that's merely an assumption. Wherever I happen to be, the fragrance of roses and rain follows me. I won't deny that it's pleasant, but it's overwhelmingly excessive. No offense, but it's a fact that needs to be stated, and I'm certain Luca over there would concur. If the fridge happens to be empty, kindly close it and search for something in the pantry instead, you insignificant nuisance! Nevertheless, even with all that being said, I had absolutely no desire for that blanket."
"You think I smell good? Well, that's progress, isn't it? Flattered, thanks."
With yet another booming thunder, I involuntarily flinched, but this time, there was no chance of Angelo letting me off easily. His gaze pierced right through me, ignoring Luca, who stood with the pantry doors ajar. And once again, Luca leaped like a startled cat, but Angelo's attention was elsewhere, as was mine. Reluctantly, but with a feigned tenderness, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, drawing me uncomfortably close. I struggled to break free, but he refused to let me, and inexplicably, I found myself resting my head against his chest, seeking a fleeting solace that only he could provide. His hand moved gently, rubbing my arm in a pretense of care, despite my protestations. And even though I explicitly stated my disinterest, he callously draped the nauseatingly rose scented blanket over my shoulders, cinching it tightly across my body.
"I saw through your facade from the very beginning, Camila. Don't try to deceive me by claiming you're not afraid. Thunderstorms strike fear, and there's no need to conceal it. I know you'd rather be anywhere but in my arms, but Luca won't even lay a finger on you. So I implore you, have faith in me. Trust me. I'm not asking for your love by the week's end, but the least you can do is trust me."
I allowed my head to rest against Angelo's warm frame, succumbing to the intoxicating scent of the blanket tainted with his essence. He drew me closer, his touch gliding through my hair with a deceptive tenderness. I refrained from voicing my discontent, for in that moment, it brought a modicum of solace. Despite my resistance, being enfolded within Angelo's embrace offered an unwelcome sense of comfort. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, attempting to suppress any flicker of pleasure. Eventually, exhaustion took hold, and I surrendered to the oblivion of slumber, ensnared with his stifling warmth.