24. 24 - Zella
M y feet slap against stone as I run up the steps and into the hall, not pausing until I’m pushing open the door to my bedroom. My throat aches, my body shaking to try and hold back the tears.
I don’t understand why Ryder looked so disappointed. And Enzo… he sent me away.
What did I do wrong?
Splashing water on my face in the bathroom, I stare at my blotchy face and watch as my vision blurs, tears plopping into the basin.
Everything on the outside is so complicated.
Maybe Ryder is right. Maybe I don’t know enough about this world to make the right choices. But what happened with Enzo didn’t feel wrong.
I throw more water on my face, trying to dampen the fire I can feel on my cheeks. The way he moved over me, tasting me, shaving me.
When I first started reading the few books Ethan would bring me, I always imagined how it would feel to be introduced to a man, like Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy, or Heathcliff and Cathy.
As I grew older and learned more about my own body, I would trace my hands across my skin in bed, trying to imagine someone else’s hands in their place.
The reality is beyond my own imagination.
I never expected this. I never expected them.
My face is still scarlet when I turn away from the glass. Collecting my sketchbook from the side, I make my way downstairs, searching for a space I can use to clear my head. Sketching always helps when my head feels too full. Like the chaos inside finds its way out onto the page.
My fingers pluck at the edges of Ryder’s shirt as I peer cautiously around one of the many doors in the house. Some rooms are completely empty. Others have furniture inside, white covers thrown over them in a way that reminds me of the apartment, making me back out quickly and close the door.
Finally, I find a little room with a dark blue couch and settle down, opening my book. I’ve always had to search for inspiration, but today my pencil begins to fly almost as soon as it touches the page.
Chaotic strokes shape into a familiar face. Enzo’s face appears, looking straight at me, his eyes burning with dozens of stars. I try to draw the skull covering his neck, but my fingers falter. I need to spend more time studying it.
For the first time, I don’t wish for more color. Enzo’s likeness stands out on the page, bold in shades of black and white, so similar to the real him that it makes my breath catch.
Flipping the page, I move on to Ryder. His curls flop over his forehead as he smiles, full lips coming to life under my hand.
He’s standing next to a window, his hand curled towards me as if in invitation.
And then there’s Maverick. His eyes pierce the page as he lifts a glass, his brow quirked in silent demand.
My fingers trace over the three sketches.
Three men.
Enzo told me I would be theirs.
Ryder told me I wouldn’t be.
I wonder if anyone plans to ask me what I want.
The quiet knock on the open door makes me jerk, my sketchbook sliding to the floor. Maverick leans down to pick it up, his eyes glancing down as he hands it back to me. “You have a gift for art.”
The words draw a smile to my face. “Really?”
“You didn’t know?” He settles down on the couch next to me. Maverick is impossibly large, his shoulders taking up most of the empty space as I slide closer to him. He lays his arm along the back of the blue leather, fingers brushing my shoulder. “I mean it. That sketch is amazing.”
I glance down at the picture of Enzo. “Thank you. It would be better with some color, I think. I used to ask Ethan for paints all the time, but he always forgot to bring them.”
Maverick’s lips are pressed together, a frown in his eyes when I look at him.
“Zella… Ethan is back in the city.”
My whole body goes numb.
He’s back.
The buzzing in my head grows to a roar, and my breathing stutters and dies. Maverick’s face appears in front of me. He’s on his knees, talking, his face urgent, but I can’t hear him.
I’m barely aware as I’m lifted and settled against something warm.
“He’s coming for me,” I whisper. Soon, I’ll be back in that cold place. Prison or home, it won’t make a difference when those doors close behind me. Sound finally penetrates as Maverick swears.
“No, sweetheart,” he says firmly. His hands are roaming up and down my back, smooth, firm strokes that help reduce the noise inside my head. “He’s not coming. He doesn’t know where you are.”
Images of the elevator opening, Ethan stepping inside.
To face an empty space.
“He’s going to be so angry with me.” I twist my head to face Maverick. His body is curled around mine protectively, those wide shoulders a reassurance that I cling on to as he keeps rubbing my back.
“Listen to me,” he says firmly. “We’re not going to let him near you, Zella. You don’t have to go back there. Not now. Not ever. We will keep you safe.”
The words don’t reassure me. When I glance away, fingers lift my chin.
“Tell me.” It’s an order, given in deep, rumbling tones.
“What if I’m not here? And he finds me?” I ask carefully, and his head jerks back.
“Are you planning on leaving?”
I manage to shake my head and shrug my shoulders at the same time. “I… I don’t know. Ryder said—,”
“What did Ryder say?” Velvet over steel, something cold in his voice. “I told you that you could stay, Zella, and I meant it.”
His words loosen something inside my chest, and I take a deep breath. “Okay. That’s… that’s good.”
“Tell me what’s bothering you. Apart from the obvious, that is.”
I don’t want to admit that I’m having a meltdown over Ryder not wanting me, and I’m definitely not about to explain how I spent my morning, so I shake my head. “It’s nothing. Ethan… has he been to the apartment?”
Maverick’s hands pause in their stroking for a moment. “He has.”
Deep breath, Zella.
“Okay,” I whisper. “So he knows I’m gone, then.”
A throat clears. “Zella…,” Maverick’s voice is gentler than I’ve heard it before. “I wasn’t going to show you this. But I think you deserve to know.”
Phantom prickles linger at my neck. “What do you mean?”
Instead of responding, Maverick pulls something out of his pocket. My eyes widen as he taps the screen and it lights up. “What is that? Is that a phone?”
Maverick pauses, and he lets out a low laugh. “I keep forgetting that you wouldn’t have seen a lot of this stuff. I think we need to introduce you to technology, Zella. Yes, this is a phone.”
He shows me how he unlocks it with his fingerprint, and he presses buttons on the screen until a little film pops up. My mouth is open.
I thought you used a phone to call people, like a radio. This is insane.
My attention is drawn when he presses the screen, and I see the apartment. The bright white space looks too bright, the lights on throwing shadows from the statues across the floor. Confused, I look at Maverick. “How can you see this?”
“The guys put up a camera before they left. Watch.” At his urging, I look back to the screen, flinching when a figure appears. It’s unmistakeably Ethan, the picture crystal clear as he moves across the floor.
My whole body flinches involuntarily, and I swallow the surge of fear down when Maverick looks at me, staring down at the images instead of meeting his eyes. This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t be this scared of Ethan.
He saved my life when I was a baby, raised me, looked after me. The last few weeks with him weren’t great, but there’s no reason for the chill invading my body as I look at him.
But as the images change, I lean in closer. “What… what’s he doing?”
“Nothing good,” Maverick says grimly. The little screen version of Ethan moves around the apartment, his mouth opening and his head turning from side to side. He disappears out of view for a few minutes, and when he comes back, he has something in his hands.
The chain from my ankle.
I jump when he lifts it, smashing it into the kitchen side. His arm sweeps away my few kitchen items, and my coffee machine smashes to the floor. His feet move over the broken parts, and my breathing speeds up as the camera follows him to my little reading nook.
The table is thrown. My little bookcase is picked up and thrown against the wall, my chair tipped over.
Maverick rubs my back again. “Breathe, Zella.”
But I can’t, my chest constricting as Ethan leaves again. “Is that it?” I ask Maverick, trying to keep my voice level. “Has he gone now?”
“No.” Maverick’s voice is lower now, softer. “He comes back.”
He presses something, and the film jumps to Ethan in the apartment again. He’s throwing something in his hands, tipping it everywhere. Frowning, I lean closer as if I can get a better look. “Is that water?”
Maverick’s hand pauses. “No.”
A gasp slips out as he throws the liquid over Maria. “I don’t understand.”
He’s always been so set on preserving the statues, on taking care of them, making sure they had no imperfections . Why would he risk ruining them?
My anxiety ratchets up as he moves between each of my favorite statues.
Psyche and Cupid are next, Ethan’s movements jerking as he throws more of whatever liquid in his hands on to them.
My hands start to shake as he moves over to Dante.
Awareness is starting to trickle through in crawling fingers up my spine, the knowledge that something terrible is going to happen.
“Stop it,” I whisper, staring at the screen. “Ethan.”
But he can’t hear me. My nails dig into my knees as I watch him carefully cover Dante in the liquid. He moves on to the wider apartment, creating a trail back to the elevator and stopping a few feet before it.
He gets into the elevator, and I hold my breath.
But just before the doors close, he tosses something out. And a small flicker appears on the floor, following the line he drew in a trail of color I’ve never seen before inside that space.
Orange. Yellow. Red. Flickering flames appear, climbing into a fiery monster that devours.