Chapter 5
ISABELLA
Iwalk through the front door of the apartment at the same time I see Slade coming out of the hallway that leads to our rooms.
His hair is wet and he has no shirt on, only sweatpants, showing off his strong arms and tattoos.
It’s been a week since he gave me a ride to work on the motorcycle.
I’ve seen him a total of two times. Once was this morning when he was coming out of his room with wet hair, from his shower I’m assuming, and the other time was last night when I got home from work and he was walking out of the shower again.
We’ve exchanged a few words but nothing like how we did when he dropped me off that morning.
Every time I see him, I get all giddy and excited. I can’t stop thinking about the ride to work with him. I will admit, it was fun and exhilarating. I wouldn’t mind going on another ride but I’m not going to ask and he hasn’t offered.
“I feel like you take more showers than me,” I comment while locking the door behind me. “I always see you with wet hair.”
“I just like being clean and having everything in perfect condition I guess you can say.” He shrugs before moving to the kitchen. “I was going to make some food if you want to go take a shower and change before we eat.”
“Oh you’re staying tonight?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Yes, I don’t have work today or anything going on.”
“What do you do for work?”
“We can talk about it over dinner. Go shower,” he says, motioning for me to go to the bathroom.
I smile at him and leave the kitchen.
It doesn’t take me long to get cleaned up. By the time I finish showering and get in comfortable clothes, the food is finished and Slade is setting the island for two.
It’s weird seeing him here, in his own apartment.
I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him. I feel like I’m here more than him but at the same time, we have different schedules.
“What did you make?” I walk out of the hallway.
“Grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and brussels sprouts.”
“Smells good.” I sit down.
Slade places two plates on the island. I’m not surprised that Slade made something pretty healthy because I can tell he takes care of his body.
He is sculpted like a god, each muscle carefully carved to perfection. Tattoos like Russian quotes, a statue with a vine wrapping around it, and a snake litter his skin. He looks like a work of art that God took his time creating.
“You’re staring again,” he says before walking down the hallway only to come back with a shirt on.
“You have cool tattoos,” I say, trying to ignore the heat growing on my cheeks.
“Are you going to keep going with that lie?” He raises a perfect eyebrow.
I smile.
Instead of admitting the truth, I say, “Your tattoo in Russian, what does it mean?”
“Eye for an eye,” he says before he starts eating.
“Why that?”
He stays silent, ignoring the question.
“So what do you do for work?” I ask instead.
“I bartend at night sometimes and I’m a contractor as well.”
“You could be a chef with the food you make. This and the breakfast you made are really good.”
“I learned how to cook at a very young age. My mom taught my brothers and I the simple basics of living.”
“Are you originally from here or Russia?”
“Russia.”
I assumed he was from Russia because of the light accent. It’s subtle enough that he probably moved to the U.S. at a young age.
“Now you. Do you just write books or is there anything else you do?” he asks.
“No I’m just a writer.”
“What kind of books do you write?”
“Mostly psychological thrillers.”
“Why that genre?” His eyebrows furrow as he listens to me instead of eating his food.
“I find a psychopath's mind interesting. I think if I wasn’t an author I would have been a criminal psychologist or a forensics scientist.”
“What makes you find them interesting?”
“That their mind isn’t like ours. We were all born in the same world, none of us have the same genetics but we all get a chance at life. I want to know what makes a criminal, a criminal,” I explain, enjoying the conversation.
I love how he is listening while I’m talking, as if he is trying to grasp onto every single word I’m saying and hold onto it.
“What are you currently writing?” Slade asks as I take another bite of my food.
“A book about a psychopath slash serial killer who is trying to take down a human trafficking organization. His girlfriend got kidnapped so his ultimate goal is to save her.”
“Do you usually include romance in your books?”
“No, but my boss wants me to challenge myself so I’m including light romance in this book.”
He looks down at his food, as if he’s thinking before looking back at me. “Do you have any drafts or notes on your book? I’d love to read some of it.”
I can’t help but smile as I nod. “Let me grab my notebook. I jot down all of my thoughts there.” I leave to get it from my room and come back to Slade sitting in the same spot, waiting for me. I hand him the notebook and our fingers graze one another, sending shock waves down my body.
He opens it and starts reading. I take bites of my food and watch him read. He is really reading every single word, trying to memorize every detail, every part of my soul I’ve put into my notes and writing.
When I finish eating, I clean up my area and put the dirty dish in the sink. He’s still reading, his food forgotten.
I’m washing my dish when he closes the notebook and sets it to the side.
“Can I add one thing?” he asks. My eyes meet his, waiting for him to start.
“If you have him kill one of the rapists, make sure he tortures him before killing him. If he’s a psychopath, they usually like to play with their food before they actually kill it. ”
“Yea, I would include some torture scenes but I have no idea how to write a good one or what types of torture to include.”
Slade shrugs and tilts his head lightly. “Cutting off his dick and shoving it up the ass is a creative one.”
I laugh and shake my head lightly.
Slade smiles softly. “How about slitting his entire body, not enough to make him bleed out but enough to hurt him. After, cut off his tongue and keep it to the side for later. Then take his vision, shove a needle in his eye. Find out his fear and make his worst fear happen. Grand finale would be to shove that same tongue down his throat and make him choke on it.” By the time he’s finished, his eyes are filled with darkness, not the regular kind but the kind that makes him look deadly or like he’s capable of anything.
Capable of torturing someone.
Slade snaps out of it and stands up from the island, taking his plate and walking towards me. “If you need more ideas, I’ve got plenty.”
Can’t tell if that’s a bad thing or a good thing.