We stopped somewhere in Upper East Side where upscale townhouses and exclusive residential buildings were lined up along the street. Angel parked the car in front of an opulent grey brick mansion, rising above five stories and resembling a cathedral, standing out as a daunting figure in the night. I stared at the absurd home in disbelief.
"You own this place?" I muttered as I got out of the car.
"Uh-huh."
I found myself laughing. "Then why were you squatting at a church?"
"I never buy more than one real estate property in one place, and Jude and I already have joint ownership of our apartment building."
"Wait. You two own the building you're living in?" I said, incredulous.
"Technically, we inherited it from our grandfather."
"Semantics."
She shrugged dismissively and leapt over the short fence. I rolled my eyes and opened the gate, following behind her. As we entered, an immaculately dressed man greeted us at the foyer.
I remembered him to be Jude's so-called aide who's been a constant fixture within his shadow since I've known him.
"Miss Lastor," he said to Angel, bowing his head lightly before turning to me. "Sir Frederick."
"Hello, Luis," I greeted, offering a hand. "I didn't see you at the party."
He accepted my hand with a forced smile. "I had some business to attend to."
"That's a shame. You should really take it-"
"The hell are you doing here?" Angel cut in sharply.
"Master Jude instructed me to assist you during your stay," he answered politely.
She scoffed. "Of course he did."
She walked past him and, with grace, he swiftly slipped Angel's coat off without causing a hitch in her step. He followed her down the hall, picking up her shoes as she kicked them off along the way.
She stopped at a wall and Luis pressed a button, a section of the wall pulling back and revealing an elevator. I followed them in and shifted in discomfort as Angel stripped her dress off, letting it fall.
Luis snatched the dress with ease before it hit the floor, not even blinking an eyelid as she stood there in a tightly laced corset with an assortment of knives strapped to her thighs and back.
No wonder she declined the gun, she didn't need it. She was a walking arsenal.
She caught me looking at her and she shrugged. "I have crippling anxiety," she explained simply. "Keeps me calm."
"There's a pill for that."
She snorted. "In order to get a prescription, I'll have to be diagnosed. In order for me to be diagnosed, I'll have to allow a half-witted shrink fuck with my head three times a week." She glanced at me, smirking. "I'd rather bear with the debilitating panic constantly seeping into the crevices of my consciousness than subject myself to a series of attempts by a blubbering charlatan to understand my insanity."
"You're not insane."
"Give it time," she quipped with a wink.
The lift stopped at the top floor and we stepped out, my eyes widening at the sight of the soaring high ceilings and crystal chandelier. Paintings covered the expansive walls, making the place seem more like a gallery than a hallway.
I caught sight of one painting. A little girl, sitting on a swing, a crown of flowers set atop her head and her long red hair sweeping at the ground like a veil. A bright smile lit up her face as she swung up in the air, her eyes filled with a kind of innocence and joy that only a child could possess.
There was something divine about her in the most wholesome way. It made you feel protective of her. To cherish that innocence at all cost and give her the joy every child deserved. And make sure she would never know pain.
"Babe, come on," I heard Angel call.
"This is you, isn't it?" I asked, unable to tear my gaze off the painting.
She stood beside me, sighing. "Was."
"Was," I echoed, the word feeling heavy on my tongue.
This was Angel without the pain. The anger. The hatred. There was a time before all that and she was the most precious existence I'd ever beheld. I wanted to run into the painting, take her away before the darkness the Angel I knew lived with could overcome her light.
More than ever, I wanted to know what happened to her. Who ruined her? Why did they do it? How could they?
I suddenly felt something I've never felt before, there had been nothing that ever caused it. I felt rage. Genuine rage. It was so intense that it consumed me completely as I stared at the girl she once had been and I didn't know what to do with it, and I wondered if this was how she constantly felt. An overwhelming urge to destroy everything.
As I struggled with the unfamiliar emotion, Angel came before me, pulling at my collar and pressing my forehead to hers. Her eyes searched mine, imploring gently.
"Breathe, sweetheart."
I let out a harsh breath, my hand wrapping around her wrist. "Angel..."
"I know." She looked at the painting. "Jude reacts the same way every time he sees that. I don't get it, but I guess I can't see what you both see."
"I see the things that you've lost," I said, feeling angry tears sting my eyes. "And good God, the grief is maddening."
Sadness filled her eyes and she reached for my cheeks, wiping my tears away.
"One of the things I hate the most in the world is seeing the people I care for cry in front of me. I feel so useless when it happens and I just want to make it stop." She sighed, closing her eyes. "Tell me how to make it stop, sweetheart."
"Have hope. Please."
She smiled, opening her eyes. "Hope is something that people cling to for strength to keep fighting for their life. I'm a good fighter, but I've been losing this fight for so long that I've exhausted all the hope inside me. I can't keep fighting anymore, sweetheart."
"Let me fight with you then."
She sighed. "My demons will destroy you the moment you step into the ring." She turned her head to Luis. "Prepare a bath."
He bowed his head lightly in acknowledgement before walking ahead. Angel took my hand and we followed him into a room.
She went to stand in front of the full body length mirror that occupied an entire wall at one side of the room and unsheathed the small dagger tucked against her corset. She flipped it in her hand, shifting her grip, and with a swift slash at her back, she cut the knots of the corset. She yanked it off her, revealing her nakedness underneath it with no care of having an audience.
She let out a breath of relief as she stretched her body and my gaze flickered down to her torso where deep jagged scars crisscrossed over each other, making me grimace just looking at them.
I've never really had a chance to inspect them carefully before but now, under the bright light, I finally did.
Her upper body was marled with scars. Pink and hypertrophic, littered all over her skin like a vicious smattering of paint on a canvas. Some were older and much more faded than the others. Some were from stitches and cuts. Others seemed to be from stab wounds and one, just below her rib cage, I was sure came from a gunshot wound.
Her arms had scars as well, a variety of long and short lines from her wrists and up to her elbows. When I looked carefully, I noticed her back had scars too. Unnoticeable ones that were small and scattered enough that made them easily overlooked. But amongst them, one stuck out most, the one underneath her tattoo.
At first glance, it could be easily overlooked due to the artwork intricately covering it but once you caught sight of it, it was all you could see. A portion of her flesh almost the size of my palm had been cut open and stitched back together, as if someone had tried to gut her.
Seeing her, every inch of her, so closely, I began to imagine the life she had led and all the things she's been through. Each scar she bore had a story behind it and every one of them still caused her pain as if the wounds were fresh. And I didn't know whether to admire her for being able to survive it all or be angry that she had to. No one deserved to live with the kind of pain she constantly had to live with.
When she caught me staring, I didn't look away. I didn't want to ignore her pain the way everyone else did and as I watched her bear her it all pain at every breath she took, I never admired her more as I did at that moment.
"I hate it when you think of me," she murmured. "Most of the time, your thoughts and emotions are so clear but every time you think of me, I can't read you. It's as if your thoughts get clouded when I'm in them. I don't know if that's a good thing or not but I hate it either way."
"I hate it too."
I walked up to her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, burying my face in her hair and sighing.
"God, I could be so good for you if you'd just stop pushing me away."
"I know."
"But you're scared."
"Sometimes."
"I won't hurt you, baby."
"I bring out the worst in people," she said, turning her head slightly to look at me. "You're the best person I know and I don't want to ruin every good thing that I admire about you."
"You won't."
She shook her head. "I will and you'll hate the person I've turned you into. I'm cursed."
I sighed, smiling weakly. "Stop being so melodramatic. I'm just trying to get in your pants."
She elbowed me in the gut and tried to get away but I spun her around to face me, holding her tight.
"Sorry, sorry. I was just kidding," I mended, snickering.
"You're such an asshole."
"Or... charming?"
"Nope. Definitely an asshole."
"You know, you're the only person who thinks that. I'm, like, the nicest guy you'll ever meet."
She wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me down to her till her lips touched mine. "Nice guys don't fuck the way you do."
I heard the door close, followed by receding footsteps out the hall. Angel pulled away, heading for the bathroom.
"Join me," she said without looking back.
I unbuttoned my shirt as I followed her and watched her slip into the sizeable tub, laying still and closing her eyes. For a moment, I stood froze, caught with the sense of peace that I rarely saw in her. It wasn't forced like most of her laughter and smiles.
I had watched her sleep earlier, but she seemed to be struggling even in her unconscious state then. Now, there was none of that. It was like the still water brought her solace.
"Move over."
She didn't open her eyes but obliged. I placed one foot in and jumped as the ice cold water practically burned my skin.
"Jesus Christ, Angel! It's freezing!"
She sighed. "It's perfect," she murmured, her voice soft.
I frowned, looking down at her. My head was starting mess with me again, a string of questions coming unbidden to me. I held them back, wanting to give her this. The peace of mind that I knew she rarely had.
I slid behind her, the water feeling like knives piercing through my skin and digging into my boes but I bore it. I placed my legs at either side of her and she nestled into me, laying her back against my chest.
"Relax, babe. You're so tense," she mumbled.
I bit my tongue to stop the chattering of my teeth, letting out a deep breath. She shifted lightly, laying her body fully against mine and resting her head on my shoulder, her eyes softly shut as she brought her forehead against my neck. I moved her hair slightly, looking down at her.
She was almost surreal. Like this. No masks. No walls. Just this. Nothing else.
It's just a pretty face
It was, but she, on the other hand, wasn't. She was more than a pretty face and by God, I was starting to fear her again. Fearing the thought of falling for her like every other man who got to know her. I didn't want to fall into the same pit of despair like them. I didn't want to fall for something as shallow as good looks. But truly, loving Angel Lastor would be easier than not loving her. The sad thing is, this girl would rather be hated than loved.
I slid my arms around her, embracing her lightly and pulling her closer to me. Her body felt so small against mine, as if one wrong move, I could snap her in two but I knew too well that she had more fight in her than anyone I've ever had a chance of meeting. She fought every day. Every waking moment for her was a battle. I just didn't know who or what she was fighting against.
"I hate it when people stare at me," she said, her eyes still closed. "I feel so exposed. I can't stand it."
I smiled solemnly. "Is that why you're always hiding at parties?"
"Not exactly," she said, sighing. "Attention, I can handle, I'm used to it. It's the noise that comes with crowds. There's too much stimuli and I get overwhelmed trying to process everything all at once so I try to keep interactions short and get drunk as fast as possible. I won't last an hour around hundreds of people otherwise."
I frowned. "Then why attend those parties at all?"
She smiled. "I'm Angel Lastor. I'm required to maintain the illusion that I am both unattainable and within reach. Otherwise, I have no value to the Lastor family."
"Is that really true?"
She shrugged. "People are suckers for a pretty face."
I shook my head, cupping her cheek and admiring her blatant beauty. "It's a plain fact that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. The moment you walk in the room, all eyes turn to you and every move you make is followed with awe," I confessed, tipping her chin up when she rolled her eyes. "But your value doesn't end and begin with your face." I shook my head. "I know you're aware of your outstanding qualities, one of those qualities is your unrelenting arrogance. Why on Earth would you allow yourself to be diminished as a simple pretty face?"
"No one bothers to get to know me because they're too busy trying to get into my pants," she said, smiling wryly. "This-" She pointed at her face. "- is my first line of defense. Convenient, ain't it?"
I sighed. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're too sweet," she said, kissing my cheek.
I tilted my head, brushing my lips against hers and ignoring the sound of reason telling me not to fall into her pit of despair. Our gazes met for a brief moment of hesitation before submitting to impulse as we pressed our lips together, the kiss soft and slow.
I could faintly taste the nicotine in her mouth but it somehow made me want to taste more of her. Her hand slid over the side of my neck, pulling me closer to her. As the kiss grew deeper, our tongues tangling, taunting each other, it became a struggle to hold back the selfish need to have all of her.
My hand clutched her hip as she shifted to straddle me, my fingers caressing the skin on her back. I've ached to touch her and the faint feeling of those slight bumps from her scars made me ache for her more, wanting to take away the pain that those things caused her. To kiss every scar on her body. To convince her that they didn't make her who she was. That she was more than the broken pieces inside her. But like every other time I dared to take a step beyond the limits, she pulled away.
She held my wrist and I opened my eyes, seeing the pleading in hers as if she was silently begging for me not to touch her.
"Tell me how you got them," I whispered, bringing my hand to her cheek.
She sighed, turning her head and kissing my palm. "Pick one." She gestured at her body. "Just one."
I set my gaze on her tattoo. "That one."
She shook her head. "No. Pick another one."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to remember that day right now," she said, a twinge of pain appearing on her face before quickly disappering. "Just pick another one."
I sighed and looked among the array of scars on her skin. I pointed at the coin shaped scar.
"This one."
She brushed her finger over it, a smile appearing on her lips as if she was remembering a fond memory.
"Got it when I was seventeen," she began. "A friend of mine from boarding school was this crazy party animal and he would host the wildest parties at his house every weekend. One time, he got it in his head that Russian Roulette was the best fucking game to play with a bunch of drunken and coked up teenagers. I've always hated guns. They're just too unpredictable and I can never trust anyone with a finger on the trigger. So when I saw the gun, I got pissed off and told them they were idiots. Just as I was leaving the room, the gun went off."
She snickered, looking so amused it was ridiculous.
"The gun, turns out, was an antique from his father's collection and because it was so old, the trigger was sensitive so when he dropped it, it was enough to trigger the damn thing. Hilarious, right?"
She looked at me, as if expecting me to laugh but I just stared at her in disbelief.
"What?"
"That's horrible! You could have died!"
"Yeah, but the irony is what makes it so hilarious!" she insisted. "I didn't even want to play but I still got shot! It's ironic!"
"How is that funny?" I asked, still not finding the humor in her morbid story. "You're literally the only person I've ever met who'd find being shot at hilarious."
She snorted. "That's what the doctor told me after I got out of surgery."
In spite of it, I laughed. "It's still not funny."
She was giggling uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking, her face turning red, and tears welling up in her eyes as she struggled to breathe in between her hysterics. I suddenly found myself staring at her, realizing it was the first time I've heard her genuine laugh.
It made her light up, the unusual brightness in her demeanor catching me off guard. It was mesmerizing, seeing her so free and youthful. I wanted her to stay like this. I would do anything to stay like this with her forever.
Ah fuck. I'm ruined.
She suddenly stopped, her brows furrowing into a frown. "What?"
I shook my head. "Nothing. I'm just... appreciating this moment."
She looked at me as if I had said something absurd and then she started laughing again, throwing her head back and clutching her sides.
"You're so fucking cheesy!"
I chuckled. "Come here."
I pulled her to me, placing my hand on the back of her head and kissing her. Her laughter died as she melded her lips to mine. I pulled away first, not wanting to go too far.
"Don't stop," she whispered against my lips, her breath making me shiver. "I want you. Let me have you."
With all the restraint I could muster, I shook my head.
"I can't."
She groaned, reaching between us and wrapping her hand around my cock. I trembled. Goddammit.
"Why not?"
"I want to do right by Jude," I said, taking her hand off me.
"You've gotta be kidding me."
I shook my head, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You're the most precious thing in the world to him and for some reason, he trusts me with you. I can't, in good conscience, betray that trust any more than I already have."
"This is none of his business."
"Yeah, but he's my best friend and I'm sleeping with his sister. I owe him the truth, at least."
"He's going to beat the shit out of you."
I chuckled, nodding. "I expect nothing less."
She sighed. "So... no sex, huh?" She shrugged, standing and getting out of the tub. "I can deal. Wanna watch a movie?"
I smiled. "Sure."
She grabbed a towel from the rack and dried off before going back in the bedroom. I followed behind her, wrapping a towel around my waist. She crawled onto the bed, leaning against the headboard while scrolling through the list of movies on the television.
I noticed there were a set of pajamas folded neatly on the bench by the foot of the bed for us. I changed into mine before sitting beside her.
"Oh, Harry Potter," she muttered excitedly under her breath.
She played the movie and curled up next to me. I lifted my arm, letting her lean against me before covering us with the duvet. As the movie started, she kept muttering the dialogue under her breath at the same time as the characters were saying them.
When Hagrid told Harry he was a wizard and Angel gasped loudly as if she hadn't just recited the line verbatim, I started laughing at how unbearably adorable she was.
An hour into the movie, I realized she'd fallen asleep. When I called her name, she didn't answer. It was the second time tonight that she fell asleep with no preamble and I frowned at the thought of her being constantly fighting exhaustion.
I took the pajamas set out for her and dressed her, careful not to make any sudden movements to not disturb what was probably a privilege rest for her.
For a moment, I was conflicted between laying beside her or asking Luis for a spare room. I didn't want her to react the same way she had the first time I had stayed with her but I didn't want to leave her alone either and have her suffer on her own once her night terrors came.
When I was about to get off the bed, she gripped the edge of my shirt. I glanced at her but her eyes were still closed.
"Ne me quitte pas," I heard her whisper in a hush voice, as if I wasn't supposed to hear.
"What'd you say?" I asked, not understanding.
She didn't answer. Sighing, I laid beside her and gently put my arms around her, wanting to bring heat into her perpetually cold body. She let out a sigh, laying her head on my chest as she slept silently.
I looked down at her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and sighing.
Ah fuck. I'm really ruined.