Chapter 6 Toma
SIX
TOMA
My jaw clenches as I watch Lucie through the window of the large auditorium she’s in for her social psychology class.
Day three and already, the flies are swarming her, smelling her sweet flower scent.
The boy talking to her is distracting her now.
I know she’s annoyed because she pulls on a strand of hair in a repetitive motion, but she’s not telling him off.
He gives her his best dashing smile and I want to crush his mouth and make him swallow his teeth.
Then, he hands her his phone and Lucie rolls her eyes, giving in.
Oh baby. I’ll have to punish her for this. By the time I’m done with her, she’ll never fake a smile ever again. And especially for people who don’t matter.
When the class ends, the guy waves at her and exits the auditorium. Gemma is on duty today, and even if I don’t like her or her husband, I have a pressing matter I need to take care of before I resume my watch of sweet Lucie.
The way the boy walking in front of me remains unaware of my presence even as I enter the bathroom after him is laughable.
Not everyone is born and bred for vigilance like I am, but awareness of one’s surroundings still should be a quality a young man pursuing a girl like Lucie should exhibit. Two strikes against him.
The half-mask I wear obscures my face as I pull him by the collar and slam him against the bathroom door. He lets out a squeak and I’m tempted to bash his face in for the weakness.
“What are you doing, man?”
“Your phone,” I growl and open my palm up.
He scrambles to put the device in my hand. “Here. Here. Take it. I don’t need it. Let me go.”
I pocket it and open my butterfly knife, pressing the blade to his throat. He whimpers. “No, no. I don’t want to die.”
“You’re not not going to. If you do exactly what I tell you.”
“Anything, anything.”
I almost roll my eyes at his fear. And he thought he had a chance with Lucie Ventura? Pathetic.
“Stay away from Lucie.”
His face constricts with confusion. “The blonde chick?”
I press the blade harder, nipping his skin.
“Okay, okay,” he pleads and raises both hands in surrender. “I won’t talk to her.”
“And spread the word on campus. Anyone who comes close, you’ll be held responsible.” I press the blade closer to his throat for emphasis.
His eyes close. He nods mindlessly, scampering away when I release him. Spineless piece of shit. But useful, nonetheless. I crush his phone under my boots and pick up the pieces to discard later. I hate littering.
The next day, I watch with an amused smile as the boy avoids Lucie’s gaze and picks a seat all the way at the front of class. Most people give her a wide berth. Good.
For days, I follow her home, like I always do, tempted to come closer just to smell her, but I stay in control.
The first night I was in Edinburgh, I entered every single flat in Lucie’s building and installed automatic lights that randomly switch on and off.
It would have been too suspicious if the entire building remained in the dark for too long.
I had hoped she wasn’t the type to send a casserole to announce her arrival to every single family.
As it turns out, she’s not. How could she when she bloody forgets to eat six nights out of seven?
She enters her building ahead of Milosh, and I rush back into my own flat, taking a seat at the window.
One more evening of looking through and observing my thorny Lucie neglect herself.
One more evening of pure anxiety, knowing she might pass out at her desk, without any food in her. No one to take care of her but me.
Her protection details have been doing a relatively good job of taking her to and from uni and making sure no one suspicious approaches her but once she’s home, all bets are off.
Now, she’s been in Edinburgh for ten days, and only did groceries once.
I haven’t seen her at her kitchen, preparing food, nor have I seen any delivery person bringing her a hot meal from any of the many restaurants around in days.
It’s driving me insane and though I promised myself I would stay in the shadows, I can’t take it anymore.
I’m not only the monster under her bed that’ll make sure she’s safe.
I’ll be her fucking butler, cook, cleaner, whatever she needs because obviously, my girl needs someone to care for her.
At two minutes past midnight, she jumps up from her slumped position at her desk, rubs her eyes and switches off the light before throwing herself into bed.
She ate a pack of baby carrots for dinner and that was it.
The blinds have stayed halfway up ever since she moved in and I have a growing suspicion they’re broken but I don’t see any texts to the London trio, or the bodyguards, about the problem.
My eyes stay fixated on Lucie’s window for hours, the pedestrian stopping in front of her building barely making it in my brain. They’re holding a leash with a tiny dog at the end, which seems to tremble like a leaf.
The insomniac and the dog remain still for a few minutes and my eyes stray back up to Lucie’s window, but not before I notice they look up towards mine.
I’m too far up for them to see me and my lights have been switched off for a while to allow me better view of Lucie’s flat but their interest is unsettling.
I’m seconds from leaving my flat and confronting them when Lucie’s lights switch on again.
I watch her step into her kitchen in nothing but a large tee-shirt that doesn’t reach her plump ass and barely-there panties.
A shiver runs through me. I don’t want to look.
I respect her privacy. Kind of. But she’s everything I’ve ever dreamt of and more.
She gulps a large glass of tap water, barely awake and looking even more vulnerable in her state of sleepiness. She also doesn’t drink enough water, running on coffee, and coffee. And more coffee.
If I were there, she’d have that glass of water on her beside table.
I’d make sure she has what she needs close by.
A warm blanket, maybe a heated water bottle for when she’ll have cramps for her period.
I make a note to check tomorrow if she has all the supplies she needs.
Her period is due in two days and since my girl can’t feed herself, chances are, she didn’t even think of getting tampons and that salted chocolate she loves.
When she returns to bed, I glance down at the street underneath us. It’s empty. I climb into bed, ready to make her life easier than it seems to be.
****
I was right.
No tampons, no pads, no heated water bottle or comfort food.
I click my tongue as I rustle through Lucie’s bathroom and find none of what she’ll need tomorrow.
Shaking my head, I place the period supplies in the cabinet underneath the sink, pick up the towel she abandoned on the floor and lay it on the towel heater for drying.
I get to the kitchen and arrange the things I got her.
Prepared meals she’ll only have to heat in the micro-wave—not the healthiest option but I’m sure she’ll like the efficiency—, the sweets she loves, an assortment of different teas, and some chocolate-covered almonds for that beautiful brain of hers.
Peeking at her desk, I read the post-it notes about different topics she must be studying.
I may enjoy coding but it was more of a necessity.
Useful people don’t die. I have no love for big, brainy books and even less for sitting down for hours to study and listen to an old fart raging on about pattern recognition.
Everything I learnt about the human brain and psychology, I’ve lived through. It’s enough to know that my brother is a sadist, and not the kinky kind. Only the pain of others gets him going, especially mine. It’s been like this since we were kids.
Just behind the desk is her bed. The purple sheets are rumpled and I swallow. I can almost feel the warmth of her body, curling into itself at night.
I take a step forward.
Don’t do it, my mind screams at me.
Do it, my caveman brain replies. And my cock agrees.
The tee-shirt she wore to bed is piled next to her pillow.
With trembling hands, I take it, lifting it to my nose as if my body isn’t my own anymore.
Her perfume assaults my senses, bringing me back to when she hugged me, chest pressing to my stomach and ear settling on my heart.
Underneath the flowery scent is something purely her.
I groan.
And pocket the thing. It barely fits in my jeans pocket—especially now that something else is taking all the extra space—but I’m no quitter. I need this piece of her. When I look down again, an object peeks from underneath the pillow.
It’s the keychain I made for her.
My heart soars. The feeling is so unknown I fear I’m having a heart attack. I’m dizzy with joy and take a seat on the bed, toying with the wood of the carvings I made.
She’s sleeping with it.
Not a photo of her family or a token of their love. What I made. For her.
Keys rattle in the front door and I swear under my breath, running on silent feet towards the bathroom and lying down in the tub. As slowly as I can, I drive the curtains in front of it and hold my breath.
It can’t be Lucie. She has a three hour lecture on Genes and Environment Interplay. Whatever that means. And Milosh is on duty this morning. It must be Gemma.
Feet shuffle in the space. Then a vacuum starts. For Fuck’s sake. Did Dante ask the bodyguards to clean her space? I mean, it’s nice but it’s been ten days already and no one’s been here before. Except me today, but that’s different. I’m here to help. Fuck, I hope she won’t clean the bathroom.
The cleaning continues for what feels like hours. My fingers anxiously tap on my leg, cramps and needles travelling through my neck. My body is contorted, barely fitting in the small, enclosed space. The urge to move is unbearable, but I stay focused on my breath and wait it out.
When the front door locks again, I release a heavy sigh. I didn’t put a tracker on Milosh and Gemma’s phone yet and that’s my mistake. Going back to my flat across the street, I do exactly that, and check in on Lucie’s little dot on my screen. She’s moving towards her favourite cafe.
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t help myself.
With a hoodie on and a half mask covering the lower half of my face, I make my way to Petit Pain. People change sidewalks when I cross paths with them. I’m not really inconspicuous with my size and face covering but I’m not ready for Lucie to know I’m here.
Not yet.
Staying in the shadows is like a drug. And I’m addicted. Her silent and invisible protector.
Now that I saw the token of my affection—in her bed of all places—the monster inside my chest telling me that she’s mine is becoming louder. I need my fix and I need to see her from closer than across our street.
Just like I thought she would be, the blonde goddess sits in the front corner, a steaming cup of tea in front of her and her head buried in her computer, typing the keys frantically.
She doesn’t see me enter. Nor does she lift her head when I take a spot in the opposite corner.
From her place, she won’t be able to see me unless she shifts completely.
Which she won’t. Once she is absorbed in a task, it’s very hard to get her to notice anything around her. Which is even more dangerous for her.
Milosh has finished his shift and Gemma sits not far from her, looking around, but far too relaxed for my liking. She doesn’t notice the man in a hoodie fixated on Lucie Ventura. If I didn’t know Lucie likes her and her husband, I’d have killed her for being so bad at her job.
My eyes don’t stray from my perfect sunshine, except she isn’t that sunshine-y anymore.
Not like she pretended to be back in London.
Without the pressure of performing that role, she’s letting herself be sad.
And God, how sad she is. It’s breathtaking and makes me want to scoop her up in my arms and reassure her that she is loved and wanted.
Well, at least wanted. Love isn’t in the cards from a man like me.
Pretty sure any man in my family is incapable of it.
I grin to myself when she raises her eyes to take in the other students and coffee aficionados around her.
She feels my presence and shifts in her seat, looking left and right.
But never enough that she sees me looking.
We’ve played a game of cat and mouse the past few days.
When it’s dark, I follow her if she sneaks out for a quick fish and chips.
These evenings have been few and far between, Milosh and Gemma aren’t completely useless and always end up trailing after her, within minutes.
And most of the time she forgets to eat anyway.
Yet the same thrilling energy buzzes through me now.
If I wanted, I could take her. And no one would know. Getting rid of her bodyguards would just have to be an annoying side-step.
Gemma comes to her and asks if she’s okay, a frown in her severe brow. Point in the positive for the brunette but still not enough.
Lucie plasters a fake smile on her face, one that drops immediately after Gemma returns to her spot.
When will you show the world your thorns, Ru?ica moja?