Chapter 46 Untitled Chapter
There were 314 black spots on my pure white ceiling. I knew that because I had spent hours counting every single one of them.
After begging and praying for sleep that continuously eluded me, I decided on literal mind games, hoping I could deceive myself into sleeping.
First I counted sheep backwards, then I read a book on the merging of mathematics and psychology, and when that didn’t work, I focused on counting every single black spot my painter must have missed when he painted over my previously black ceiling.
I had sent pictures of the events at the orphanage to my dad. He appreciated how I looked, the kids, everything—it was so much that he wept. He obviously still loved his late wife so much; it was hard for him to live without her like this. Which was one of the major reasons he moved to a different state. Everything here reminded him of her.
Of course, Cole wasn’t in any of the pictures. He had asked me to keep his donation anonymous or to claim them as mine.
I didn’t want to, but explaining to my father that I somehow knew Cole Buenaventura Ryder, and that he had offered help for my mom’s memorial day, was a discussion I would avoid for as long as I could. Just thinking about it meant I would have to open a whole can of worms I was not ready for.
I tossed and turned a few more minutes before I gave up and let out a pained groan. My mind had been filled...nay...plagued by thoughts of a certain long-haired billionaire.
“Ugh! I need to sleeeep. How do I make myself freaking sleeeep?” I groaned out in frustration.
“Do I need to remind you that you don’t know who he really is? You really freaking don’t!”
I said it aloud as I proceeded to pull at my hair strands slightly.
“This is so frustrating. I bet he isn’t even thinking about you like this. Then why are you thinking about him? Worrying about his shoulder. Smiling at him! Why did you smile at him!!! And now you can’t even sleep!!”
I rolled around the queen-sized bed, dropped my head on the pillow, and screamed again.
“And now I’m freaking talking to myself, like I’ve gone bat shit crazy,” I muttered, pulling at my curls again.
“That’s it. I’m crazy! I’ve gone bat shit crazy!!”
Crazy over a billionaire was just that...crazy. I wondered what was going on with my head. I checked my calendar on my cell phone and counted on my fingers to make sure I wasn’t just ovulating. Cole Ryder was a billionaire who came from old money. Really old money, apparently. And I was… well, crazy. That was all I had going for me.
I turned to my writing desk, hoping I could at least distract myself by writing, but since my mother’s birth-versary morning, I hadn’t been able to do any writing. It was like the incident at the orphanage put a clog on my creativity.
Every time I remembered him, the pain he clearly tried to hide, the fact that he put himself in harm’s way for me... it all didn’t make any sense. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to make sense or not. The last thing I needed was to actively live in a delusion.
“I really need to stop writing romance books. It’s coming back to bite me in the ass. Now I actually think… What do I actually think, really?” I said, sitting up straight on my bed with my legs criss-crossed under me, yoga style.
If only my mind worked like everyone else’s. If only I didn’t work so hard to see the good, romanticized side of every demon, werewolf, and vampire. If I didn’t put in effort to create love stories for the damned. My mind was the problem. The beginning of my proverbial downfall.
“You really don’t know the man, Cee. Up until a few weeks ago, you didn’t know he was a Buenaventura. The only son and heir of a family so grand. What else is he hiding from you? Why are you drawn to the thrill of suspense, you stupid, stupid writer girl?”
The thoughts continued to turn and churn in my mind. Was he just as he was? Did I trust him? Of course not. There was a reason my spider senses were tingling like crazy where he was concerned. But could I stay far, far away from him? Of course… not.
I didn’t even lie to myself. There was also a reason I was a complete fool with no self-preservation whatsoever.
Firstly, it wasn’t like he boiled puppies and ate them, right? That was the worst thing a person could do, right? …Right?
“Bruhhh, I’m just going in circles and confusing myself.”
With that, I stood up from the bed and walked to my wardrobe.
I looked at a very pretty blue top right on top of my heap of clothes and picked it out. When did I buy this? I didn’t remember ever owning something like it. It looked really new too. And the quality was so rich and expensive that I knew I didn’t buy it.
“Maria. Of course you’d leave your clothes in my house, on my freaking wardrobe, you crazy rabbit! Oh well—finders keepers!”
I giggled to myself as I put on the top and paired it with a blue jean trouser.
“That’s it! Let’s go for a walk. Get this brain firing and ready to continue chapter fifteen, shall we?”
I walked out of my apartment and began the quiet trek down the sidewalk of my street.
My mind went back to the last time I had seen Cole sitting on his bike just a few meters away—looking imposing and yet regal, like he was posing for a bad-boy photoshoot. Dark shades. Dark bike. Dark jacket. Those swirls of tattoos peeking out everywhere.
I stared at the spot for a minute too long before shaking my head to dispel the thoughts.
Twenty minutes into my walk, I could swear I was being followed. It wasn’t an “oh, what a coincidence” type of follow—it was intentional. My heart rate picked up. I sped up, and the steps behind me sped up too. I turned back and was met with an empty street.
My mind did spins and tumbles. Living in the suburbs would do that. Everyone was either home safe, at a late-night party, or in a church somewhere. I scanned the street again for good measure. Satisfied, I turned to continue my walk, but the feeling didn’t go away.
Was it Cole Ryder? Was he playing games with me, trying to scare me? No. I pushed the thought away. Cole wouldn’t do that. Stalk me in his boujee car, yes. Scare me, no.
I had a feeling that if Cole followed me around, I wouldn’t even know it.
Should I just take the L and go back home? Chalk it up to womanly intuition or something? Did I really have to see the madness happen before I learned my lesson?
Soon after, I couldn’t decide if I was overthinking—but I knew what I felt. Someone was following me.
I could feel the person behind me. I could almost smell his cologne. It smelled strangely familiar, like something I could put a name to. Or a very familiar, popular face.
I spun quickly, throwing my hand out to strike whoever it was, but I was met with dark green, very angry eyes.
“C… Cole?” I said, stumbling as I tried to pull my hand back. He had grabbed it mere inches from his face.
I looked down at his hand gripping mine and saw the unmistakable crimson spill of blood from what looked like a knife slash.
“Cole. What are you—?”
“Go home.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Go. Home. Celene.”