24. 24 - Zella #2
My face crumples as it reaches Psyche and Cupid first, swarming over them, burying them in fire before it moves on to Maria. The first sob falls out, my arms reaching around me to hug myself as it spreads over her, until her tall frame is engulfed.
“Zella.” Maverick is murmuring, but I can’t hear him over the sound of my own sobbing. I frantically scrub the blurriness from my eyes, watching as the fire moves closer to Dante. It takes over the apartment, spreading to my nook, my chair, my furniture.
Everything I had is burning.
“Dante!” I’m sobbing now, watching as his handsome face, the one I spoke to every morning, talked to when I was lonely, the one silent friend I had my entire life is hidden under licks of flame.
I watch as it takes everything, creeping closer to the screen until it eventually turns black.
“Zella,” Maverick turns me to face him, his hand cupping my cheek. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t know it would upset you this much.”
“That was my home,” I choke. “My home, Maverick. They were my… my friends.”
Maverick doesn’t point out the absurdity in my words. Instead, he pulls me close, murmuring soothing words in my ear that I barely hear as I bury my face into his chest and let the tears free. My whole body shakes in his embrace, his shirt growing damp beneath me as I grieve for them.
All my life, I asked for color. And Ethan gave it to me, in brutal vibrancy.
“Why did he do that?” I croak. “Why did he destroy them?”
“I suspect he thought people might come looking,” Maverick murmurs. “Everything in that apartment is evidence, Zella. Evidence that he was keeping you there. I think it’s safe to say that what he told you probably wasn’t the real story.”
I can’t stop crying.
Everything I ever had just went up in smoke.
And now I’m truly alone. There’s no going back.
And as much as I didn’t want to, there’s a ball of grief in my chest, cutting off my air.
It feels like the final nail in the coffin. I’m not sure what I’m grieving for – the loss of my home, my friends, my family.
Maverick sits quietly, his arms tight around me. But even this isn’t final. Ryder pretty much confirmed it.
Finally, I pull myself together, pulling back. Maverick’s arms loosen gradually, until I’m able to scramble up and onto my feet. I can’t look at him.
“I’m sorry,” I force out, staring at the floor. If I look at him, I might lean on him again, and I can’t do that.
I can’t lean on anyone.
I can feel his eyes on me. Before he can say anything, I turn, rushing out of the room. Maverick’s voice calls after me, large footsteps striding across the floor as he follows, but I can’t be around him.
I need to be alone.
I need to get used to it.
But as I dart through the hallway, running for my room, a shadow emerges from the wall and I collide with it blindly. Enzo folds his arms as I stagger back, his eyes bleeding into darkness.
“What happened?” he demands. I can’t look at him either. Ryder emerges from the dungeon, his handsome face looking more serious than I’ve ever seen it. I glance at him and his expression changes, concern filling it as he takes a step towards me.
Maverick comes up behind me, filling the rest of the space with his energy as the three of them crowd me. They’re all saying things, and it’s too loud. My head is pounding, and I feel dizzy.
Too much.
Enzo reaches for me, but I dart under his arm.
I just need space.
Enzo snarls something at Maverick as I reach the top of the stairs, and I glance behind me. They all look so angry. Maverick mutters something too low for me to hear, and Enzo stalks out. The crash of a door sounds in the distance, and I flinch.
I’m bringing trouble to their home. Making them fight amongst themselves.
Maybe… maybe I should never have left.
When I reach my room, I climb under the cozy covers on my bed, hauling them until they cover my head and my breathing heats the small space in muffled pants. I don’t want to look outside. I don’t want to do anything at all.
The pounding of my heartbeat gradually settles inside my chest. Curling up into a ball, I fall into a restless doze.
The slamming of the door jerks me awake, and the covers are ripped away.
Flinching, I glance up at Enzo. His eyes are still black.
“You’re angry,” I whisper, and his head jerks back. He tilts it to the side, examining me.
“And you’re sad. Why are you hiding?”
I half shrug, my arms still wrapped around me. “It makes me feel better. Why are you mad?”
Instead of answering, his hands reach out and roll me over. I stay still as he climbs into the bed next to me, pulling me back against him until my back rests against the warm cotton of his black shirt. “What are you doing?”
“Hush,” he mutters. “You’re cold.”
I am, I realize. His arms wrap around me, chasing away the icy sensation in my limbs as I gradually relax into him, the tension leaking away from my muscles as we lay in silence.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly into the silent room.
His breath huffs against my hair. “Why are you sorry?”
“For earlier. You didn’t enjoy it.”
I squeak as I’m rolled again, and Enzo appears over me. Dark hair falls over his forehead as he leans in, our noses almost touching.
“Who told you that?” he snaps. Swallowing, I glance to the side, but his fingers trap my jaw. “Prey.”
The demand in his voice brings out that curling, twisting sensation in my stomach.
“I thought… you sent me away.” Avoiding his eyes, I stare determinedly at the carved wooden table next to my bed. “And Ryder was disappointed.”
“Not in you ,” he murmurs. “He thinks I’m corrupting you.”
He lifts a stray strand of hair, curling it around my finger. “I am corrupting you. But I don’t care.”
His body presses down into mine, and his fingers grip my cheek. “I told you, you’re mine, little prey. And you’ll be theirs too, even if they don’t realize it yet. But I do. You were always meant to be ours.”
My hand shakes as I lift it up, carefully tracing the edge of his cheek. The faintest edge of stubble tickles my fingers. “Do I happen to get a choice in this?”
Enzo growls, his face dropping down. “Not particularly. Did you want one?”
Slowly, I nod. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t choose the same thing. But I don’t want to go from one prison to another, Enzo.”
His jaw clenches. “You think I’m like him?”
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t think so.”
The words seem to soothe him, and he pushes himself away from me in a sudden movement that tilts me to the side. Righting myself, I sit up as he strides across the room, picking something up from the sideboard. “I got you something.”
His voice is gruff, and he clears his throat as he drops something in my lap. “Here.”
It takes me a second to understand, and I turn the packet over in my fingers. A little thrum of excitement begins to build in my chest. “You brought me paint?”
He shrugs, and for the first time, a little flash of red tints the top of his defined cheekbones. “You said you wanted to color in my tattoos.”
I’m still staring down at the paint, blinking rapidly as I fight not to cry.
Enzo brought me color .
He’s not looking at me when I look up. His brow is furrowed as he stares at the floor.
“Ryder was right. I am not a good man,” he says slowly. “I don’t think I’m an evil one, but I’m not a good one, little prey. I can’t be. Not even for you.”
Climbing to the edge of the bed, I reach out and take his hand in mine, pulling him closer. “What do you mean?”
He stares at me, and his hand pulls away from mine as he slowly unbuttons the front of his shirt. I hold my breath as he tugs it off, revealing a body that would rival any of the statues at the apartment. Dark hair trails down his chest, ending at the edge of his dark jeans.
But then he turns around.
I’m not sure what noise I make. Horror, maybe.
Some kind of groan as I take in the damage that’s been done to his flawless skin.
His tattoos extend over his back, thick black wings with whirls and symbols covering its entirety.
But they don’t quite cover the thick raised edges that criss-cross his skin, pale scars upon scars that collect on his body in sickening clarity.
“Enzo…,” I choke. My hand reaches out, but he spins, grabbing my wrist in a gentle grip.
“I told you not to touch me, before,” he tells me. “But you’re the only person I’ll ever allow to get this close, little prey.”
Taking my fingers, he reaches around, placing them against his damaged skin.
“The only one allowed to feel these scars is you.”
The low, harsh words make my eyes burn, implicit understanding of the gift he’s offering.
“When I woke up downstairs,” I say softly, “I thought you seemed like a dark angel. And you have the wings to prove it.”
He snorts as he turns. “I’m the furthest thing from an angel you could possibly imagine, prey.”
Nudging me over, he settles down on his stomach, tilting his head to look back at me and nodding at the pens in my hand. “You gonna do your thing or what?”
My fingers squeeze against the plastic, and I glance at his torn up back hesitantly. “It won’t hurt you, right?”
He shakes his head, a small smile curling his upper lip. “Nothing you do could hurt me.”
He watches me patiently, his head to the side as I carefully open the packaging and lay out the pens. He’s brought me special ones, suitable for painting skin.
“I can’t believe you remembered,” I say reverently, stroking my fingers across the rainbow of color. “That I wanted to color them in.”
“I don’t forget anything where you’re concerned,” he murmurs. His eyes follow me as I sit up on my knees, hesitating. “Climb over me. Sit that ass right here.”
He reaches behind him and pats his lower back. Shuffling on my knees, I lift up my leg and crawl over him, huffing as I push myself into position. My fingers skitter across his back, and I take a second to trace the edges of his scars softly. He inhales underneath me.
“I didn’t think I had much sensation left,” he mutters. “But your fingers feel like a damn brand.”
I snatch them away quickly, and he makes a complaining noise. “I told you, you won’t hurt me. It feels… nice.”
A smile curls my mouth. “Okay. I’m going to get started now.”
He stays still, his body a little tense as I lift the first pen up. I know exactly what I want to do, and as the first edges of bright, glittering gold sink into his skin, I bounce accidentally in excitement. “Sorry!”
“Do that again,” he says in a muffled voice. “And we’ll have to take a break.”
I immediately stop, not wanting him to pull me away just yet. After a few minutes, I fall into the art in front of me as just as I do in my sketchbook, the pens gliding across Enzo’s skin as easily as my pencil on a page. Slowly, his body relaxes underneath me.
As I finish the first wing and sit back to admire it, I summon the courage to ask the question in the back of my head. “What happened?”
When he doesn’t answer, I take the hint and carry on. It’s a few minutes later before his voice filters through, softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“You’re not the only one who was kept in a cage, little prey.”
My fingers nearly smudge the glittering gray, but I yank them back just in time, a lump appearing in my throat as I glance down at the scars. I don’t want to push too much, but something tells me that Enzo’s captivity was much more brutal than mine ever was.
“How did you escape?” I ask quietly.
“Maverick.”
Of course. Their set-up makes a little more sense to me now. Maverick feels older than Enzo and Ryder, even though he doesn’t look it. Like he’s the leader. “He helped you, and you stayed with him.”
Enzo shifts underneath me. “He saved my life. I owe him mine in return.”
I want to ask more, but there’s a warning note in his words that tells me not to push further, and I settle back to continue my work.
This is enough, for now.
And as I reach for the lilac, my fingers happily dancing over the set, Enzo’s hand reaches back and curls around my leg.
It’s more than enough.