Chapter 20 Such An Enigma, My Celene
Cole Ryder’s POV
There was a thin line between love and obsession, and I knew I had crossed it the moment I let myself into Celene’s apartment.
I had watched her leave not long ago. I still told myself I didn’t know why I needed to be here.
That was a lie.
I needed to smell her. To breathe her in. I needed her presence to wash over me and cleanse me of the grime and pressure of the past week. The mafia was dark, filthy, and suffocating, but my kitten was light, and beauty.
Just like when I kissed her... I lost control. I had looked at her lips, the same lips her ex had forced his mouth on and the urge to reclaim her hit me so hard I could not hold myself back. I wanted to taste her. I needed to.
Standing in her room felt like coming home to a place I had never owned but somehow belonged to.
I drifted toward her bedside table, studying the small pictures and figurines arranged there. Everything about her space was gentle and deliberate.
An antique wristwatch caught my attention. It was obviously old, and worn out, but still ticking. It had history. Character, just like her.
Everything she owned was quaint. Simple. Honest. So different from me.
I didn’t know how to date. Didn’t know how to flirt or play whatever games people played these days. I only knew how to take what I wanted and adapt from there. I was already twisted in my head, what was one more fracture?
I took a slow tour of her apartment. One bedroom. A small kitchen. Bathroom. Toilet. A compact sitting area near her room. Nothing extravagant.
Her bedroom was mostly black and white. Except some pinked splashed softly across her vanity, throw pillows, side tables. A massive teddy bear sat in the middle of her bed, absurdly large for the space. White framed the windows, ceiling, and kitchen counters. Everything else faded into darkness.
Even the window blinds were black.
I made a mental note as I let myself sink into the comfort of her shadows. She loved black... She may not know it yet, but my little kitten loved the darkness.
I spent hours sitting in the rocking chair beside her bed, just enjoying the peace. Eventually, I picked up the antique watch again and checked the time.
She would be home soon.
Fuck it, I still didn’t want to leave.
Being here felt like a baptism. Like everything else faded when I was surrounded by her things, her scent lingering faintly in the air. I closed the book and wandered again, ending up in the kitchen.
That’s when I noticed the cereal bowl.
Red ants swarmed it, following a trail of sugar leading from the sink to the open window and outside. My eyes followed the ants as they moved through the sink. My kitten was messy when she chose to be.
I heard the front door open. My kitten was back.
She would panic if she saw me. I knew that. I should have left when I had the chance.
I hid in the dark corridor between her room and the kitchen and watched her go into her room. Soon, she shower started.
I went back to the kitchen and cleaned the bowl, wiped the ants away and cleared the sink completely. That was my little present for her.
I told myself I would leave right after i was done, but I didn’t. This wasn’t curiosity anymore, it was addiction.
She was meth, and I was a starving addict with cracked lips, snapping teeth, shaking at the promise of another fix.
I hovered near the door to the living room, weighing my choice. Leave or stay...
She stepped out of the bathroom already dressed, and I slid seamlessly into the dark kitchen, the shadows welcoming me like an old friend. They always had. Darkness and I were cut from the same cloth.
I leaned against the wall, unseen, and watched her notice my gift to her. I watched her spiral.
Watching her question her sanity was… entertaining.
She was funny without trying. Fear made her sharper, brighter. Not much amused me anymore, but she did. She always did.
Her uncertainty sent a pulse of thrill through me.
Teasing her, nudging her closer to the edge was... intoxicating. I wondered how far I could push before she broke and looked for me.
While she argued with herself, I slipped into her bedroom, and into her closet.
I had been there many times before. I’d carved out a comfortable spot among the clothes piled toward the back.
I watched her from the closet as she crawled into bed, tossing and turning.
Watched her count sheep backward, sighing every time she lost track and had to start again.
She flicked the lights on suddenly, flooding the room with white. I felt her tension spike, her gaze skimming corners, searching without knowing what she searched for.
She could feel me.
That knowledge sent another rush through my veins.
If I hadn’t been in the closet, I would have groaned aloud.
The peephole I’d crafted gave me a perfect view. She couldn’t see me, but I saw everything.
Her voice startled me when she spoke again, impulsive as ever.
“It’s either I’m sleep deprived and losing my memory,” she said, “or there’s something in my house. I choose sleep deprived.”
I almost laughed out loud.
She turned off the light and returned to bed, counting backward again.
“Such an enigma,” I thought. My Celene.
She drifted into sleep slowly, fighting it every step of the way. The human mind fascinated me, how easily it bent reality just to survive.
Once her breathing evened out, I stepped out of the closet.
I had years of practice.
While others learned speech and math, I learned codes and how to disappear. While others learned empathy, I learned anatomy. How bodies worked. How they failed. How to save. How to destroy. I knew it all.
I moved toward her bed, lowering myself beside her, studying her face like I always did when she slept.
She was beautiful. My gaze traced her nose, her lips.
I wanted them.
I wanted to kiss her again, but the next time i kiss her, it wouldn’t be stolen. Next time, she would want it.
I reached out to touch her cheek, but I froze halfway when a dry sob tore from my throat.
What was she dreaming about?
Who had the audacity to make her cry?
Was it a man? Her fingers twitched, lifting unconsciously before falling back on the bed.
“I miss you,” she whispered in her dream.
I jerked my hand back.
Miss? Who the hell was that?
I ran through every man I knew existed in her life. None of them came to mind at that time.
I had killed before. I had murded coldblooded men, men who wore the faces of monsters. Rapists. Murderers. People who destroyed lives, or interfered with mine.
But I had never killed out of jealousy.
Perhaps there really was a first time for everything.