Ruthless Obsession

Chapter twenty-six

Also, there's no pregnancy trope in this book yall, just letting you know before you freak out.
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For a while, we're silent. So silent that the skin on the back of my neck prickles with goosebumps.

Angelo is silent when he lifts me by my waist up to the counter. Angelo is silent when he wets a washcloth. He's silent when he wipes the blood off my face. He's silent the entire time and he never quite looks me in the eyes, even though I haven't taken my eyes off of him this entire night.

Louis has resorted to busying himself with tea. Making it, I mean. And it's slightly amusing the way he whispers curse words under his breath when he accidentally burns himself, making tea of all things.

Angelo sets a pot of water on the stove, even though I've insisted that I'm no longer hungry. After the night's events, who would be? It practically stirs nausea right into my belly thinking about it.

I can't resist making a face at Angelo when he pours the red sauce into another pot, making the usually tasty smell gravitate through the kitchen in a putrid aroma. Ick. Any other day I'd gobble it all down in one sitting, but the sauce reminds me too much of blood and blood reminds me of the man that was shot inches away from my face about 30 minutes ago.

Is it weird to say that I'm getting used to it? The constant gore that goes along with being here. Being with them.

Like maybe the monsters under the bed weren't--and aren't--as bad in comparison. In fact, the entire definition of "monsters under the bed" has changed for me. It's like those bedtime stories my mother used to tell me--the nightmare-inducing ones--were metaphors, or maybe even warnings.

I hop off of the island countertop, silently wishing I could just go wash the rest of the blood off of my body. Maybe if I do that I can actually begin to forget what happened tonight. The son-of-a-bitch had his gross fingers all over me. I'd kill to wash the guy off me and begin the process of purging him from my mind--just like I did with my mom's death, just like I did with Maria's death.

I force myself not to dwell on it, I'm done being a victim, and I'm not gonna let a dead man probe my thoughts any longer. I just hope my decision to forget him stays permanent-

My head practically whips to the side in a dash at the sound of someone entering through the door. But I settle down when I see Enzo stomping off the rain and mud from his boots with a neat rectangular box sitting in his hands.

Angelo and Louis both look up from what they are doing with more ease and grace than I did. "What's that?" Louis questions as Enzo shuts the door on the loud rain coming from outside.

"A package sir, no address." He points out from across the room. Who would send us a package without a return address? I'm not complaining though. This is the first uninteresting event that I've witnessed since I got here two and a half months ago.

Louis and Angelo eye each other curiously before Enzo props the long wet box down on the table. It's all black, dressed in a neat white ribbon. I'm able to get my hands on the ribbon before any of the boys do, flipping the black lid open.

"Oh my god!" I practically gag in horror, jumping out of the way and covering my mouth in disgust.

Angelo peers over the table, inspecting the white roses bundled in the box with bugs of all sorts slowly crawling out of the thing, like something from a horror movie. He manages to scowl before slamming the top shut and insisting Enzo take the thing back outside. "And check with security, I want to know exactly who this is from." He demands, but his voice is tired--almost cracked--and fuck if I don't blame him, I'm tired too.