11
I unlock my phone and take another spoonful of whole-grain cereal, checking the notification bar first. Nothing. Empty. I’ve been waiting all morning for a reply from a guy I met on Facebook confirming our date today.
It’s another one of my techniques to exorcise him from my head.
To focus on other people and realize that there are many men who are also handsome, with attractive bodies and clean hands, but it’s not working.
I always find some flaw in the potential candidate.
Too tanned or too pale, not enough tattoos or too much ink.
With every profile I rejected, my conviction about his beauty being unfairly beautiful became stronger.
The more attractive, the more of an arsehole the man is. And he is pretty bloody handsome. I could swear right now Satan is smiling placidly on his throne, proud of his diabolical masterpiece.
Soon the butler enters the room to look over the fireplace and cleans it with a feather duster. We already have people who do that, but his boredom must be terrible.
“Good morning,” I say with the bowl on my lap.
“Good morning.”
I turn my attention back to him as I remember the bouquet of dried roses and golden stems that have been arriving daily.
I still know nothing about the sender, and the situation is making me nervous.
I’ve talked to Liam, but he always denies it.
At first, I didn’t believe him, but it’s true that he doesn’t have a lot of money, and he’s never been one for thoughtful gestures.
“Do you know anything about the flowers?” I ask.
“I’m afraid not, miss.”
His answer is all I need to make my legs move to my bedroom, my anxiety reaching its limit. A luxurious white bag rests on the desk. It appears larger than the others I have been receiving, which the house staff has sneaked into my room for a generous tip.
I lock the door and examine the large bag in my hands. With each passing day, my suitor seems to grow more exasperated, trying to get my attention with extravagant gifts that don’t interest me.
Inside are more flowers. I was expecting the same bouquet I’ve been receiving, but this one is simpler.
A few red roses. I turn my attention to a small box.
I open it to find the latest model iPhone.
I don’t really like new technology, so I soon forgot the phone between my sheets as I focused on the pendant with the silhouette of a scorpion.
It’s pretty. Perhaps I’ll keep it for a while until I find out how much it’s worth and can sell it to someone, just like the phone and the bag.
Then I go in search of an empty vase to put the flowers in, deciding that I’m going to keep them. Glancing out, I saw only the graying sky, signaling another stormy night.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my cell phone. The screen is now lit up with a missed call notification. I don’t remember turning it on. My heart races with foolish thoughts as I toss this bouquet of black roses into the bin, joining the others I’ve thrown away lately.
As the minutes tick by, it's time for me to get ready for my usual Thursday lunch at the same restaurant with my parents and Jason. I'm looking forward to distracting myself from this whole situation with some good food.
I stir the salad in front of me. Jason next to me gobbles up everything he can and more, catching some curious glances from the other people in the restaurant. Noticing my mother’s disapproving eyes, he stops chewing and smiles, now eating a little more slowly.
I can’t stand the feeling in my stomach anymore. I get up, using the bathroom as an excuse to freshen up and hopefully regain my appetite. My parents, engrossed in a conversation about which hotel they’re going to open next, and my brother, absorbed in his chicken breast, did not notice me leave.
There is no line for the women’s restroom, but for the men’s restroom there is a man in a suit waiting with his back turned, his face completely hidden.
After washing my face and lightly wetting my hair, I leave the bathroom and encounter the man who had been waiting. I murmur a quick apology and rush back to the table, losing my appetite completely.
The sun was setting as I arrived home. I said goodnight to my family, went to my room, put on pajamas, and called Grace as I usually do before bed. Today, however, she didn’t answer. She’s probably out partying, so I go on social media and check some chats.
The guys I’ve been talking to have stopped responding to me even though they’ve read my latest messages. Being ghosted is the only thing missing to complete my bad luck in love. Obviously, I’m talking about Liam and not someone with blue eyes. I can’t believe he cheated on me. It’s outrageous.
“It’s just you and me,” I murmur into the air, staring at the screen with the Friends series ready to be watched for the tenth time.
It doesn’t comfort me like it used to, and seeing a romantic scene between two characters makes my eyes water. The pollen is terrible this summer.
I exhale the smoke again, parting my lips slightly, wishing I could rip my ears off so I wouldn’t have to listen to the voices of others anymore. The gathering on the garden terrace just ended, and some people still don’t get the damn hint I want them out of my house.
“What’s wrong with you? Your brow is more furrowed than usual,” Denis approaches me with a curious look.
In one hand, he holds the chains around the neck of the man I keep in my office most of the time. Dragging him across the lawn on all fours, and in the other hand, he has a glass of whiskey with a couple of ice cubes inside.
I shake my head, stubbing out my cigarette in an ashtray. The man’s expression changes to a happier one when he sees me. A second later he’s hugging my leg to the point of almost bruising me.
“Hey. Be still, Leki,” Denis commands as he pulls the chain backwards to move him away from me.
The man lets out a low, animalistic howl. The others, accustomed to his presence at these frequent meetings held in my house, watch him with curiosity. I can always refuse them entry and choose another location, but to be honest, I don’t feel like moving anywhere other than her house.
“Leki,” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. Denis nods with a grin on his face.
“A short for Alekei. The poor man had no name, and I thought of giving him that one. Since he likes you so much… Don’t you like it?” His smile widens as he speaks, expressing feigned confusion at the end.
“Why don’t you just name him after yourself?” I ask through gritted teeth.
He opens his mouth, letting out a gasp, and puts a hand to his chest, as if I had hurled a great insult at him.
“Because he doesn’t have that privilege. In fact, you should be thankful that I let you put my majestic name on your lips.”
I turn around, wanting to get away to another part of the garden where the voices will be quieter. Denis chases me.
“Hey, where are you going? I’m talking to you.”
“Far away. I don’t want to give you the privilege of putting my majestic fist in your face,” his lips stretch into a brief smile as he ties the man to a tree near us.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I feel that tug in my stomach again as I visualize the lake where we last spoke. My knuckles now white from the force with which I am clenching my fists.
I run the piercing across my teeth as I think about which one I should destroy next until she realizes she’s mine.
The idiots who think they have the right to send her messages don’t help me keep my cool either.
I’m still thinking about going back to the hospital where I sent them with broken bones and breaking their necks.
The thought that while I was dying inside, she was thinking about rebuilding her life with someone else drives me crazy. It’s not her fault, but it makes it easier for me to fake my apathy towards her. I know I may be taking it too far, which is why I’ve tried to apologize, but she never responds.
“I’m sick of her ignoring me.” Denis lets out a long, mocking snort.
“And what do you expect her to do? Forget how much of an asshole you’ve been just because of a few bouquets of roses? Plus, they’re dead and black. Instead of trying to make peace, it looks like you’re wishing her dead.”
“She can do whatever the hell she wants. I will not go after her,” I mutter under my breath.
“Maybe if you put a name on it, she won’t ignore you.
” He gives me a quick glance, probably guessing what I’m going to say in response.
“I don’t think people are that nosy and have that much free time to notice.
” I shake my head. I’ve already screwed up enough by letting her get close to me at the birthday party of my father.
Besides, the only one who enjoys hearing about other people’s lives from the employees before paying them for the information is Denis.
If I had more employees like him, they might not be capable of either task.
Seems, after all these years, I’ve grown fond of him.
Enough to let him get away with certain things.
“Tell all these people to get the fuck out of here. And change the name of that thing,” I hiss, glancing sideways at the man who now has his nose buried in the grass, as if he were searching for something in it.
Then I go into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water, thinking about the flowers I find in the trash every night I sneak into her room. I know those are the flowers she likes best, so why on earth does she throw them away?
A boy enters the kitchen, breathing heavily, as I bring the glass to my lips.
“We caught a couple of thieves trying to climb over the wall, sir.” I put the glass down on the counter and press two fingers against the bridge of my nose. Lately, it’s been damn hard to get five minutes of fucking peace.
“They’re in the living room,” he murmurs, anticipating my question. I follow him to the main room.
There, a brown-haired man lies on the floor with his hands and mouth tied, while another of my men places his shoe on top of his head.
“Where the fuck is the other one?” I ask, glancing sideways at the guy next to me. “He got away.”
“Well, shit. He better be here in a fucking hour if you don’t want to end up with your brains scattered all over the damn carpet,” I reply, raising an eyebrow. He nods quickly before leaving, bowing his head in a kind of ridiculous and unnecessary bow.
“Don’t waste your time, I won’t tell you a damn thing about my colleagues,” the brown-haired man spits out with difficulty when I approach him and remove the tape covering his mouth.
I like that he has the guts to talk to me like that, but I like even more the way his eyes challenge me.
To find someone, apart from those close to me, willing to meet my gaze is rare, and sometimes I miss that when talking to people.
Not that I enjoy it much. Denis drains my social battery for the rest of the month after just one little chat.
“You are in luck today. You’ll have a better fate than your friends. You’ll work for me,” I murmur with a smile before dragging him by the collar of his shirt to the basement.
He doesn’t resist as his body hits the stairs to the underground rooms. It’s not as if he has any other options. He has just entered hell, and my demons are all around him.
A couple of hours later, I put the tool down on the metal tray and take a curious look at the wounds I made on his torso. I’m careful not to tear off any of his limbs or damage any internal organs. And not because I don’t want to.
“You’re holding up pretty well. What’s your name?” The only response I get is a spit on the ground with the blood accumulated in his mouth and a pained grimace. A groan escapes his lips as he throws his head back. “Fine, never mind,” I mutter before cutting the ropes that tie him to the ceiling.
His body falls to the floor with an almost deafening thud. I have to turn him over so he’s lying on his back before pressing the hot iron against his left side. The room fills with the smell of burnt flesh and his painful gasps as he writhes on the floor to ease his pain.
“Welcome.”