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Tell the Devil III
Vincent’s apartment wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined it.
It was large. Open. High ceilings, large windows. The modern kitchen of her dreams. Wooden floor noticeably absent of stiletto marks dotted about the place. Modestly decorated. Sparsely. She’d imagined he’d only have one dish, one bowl. One fork. One spoon. One steak knife. Two glasses—one holding his toothbrush. Had no idea how to casually look to see whether she was right. Suddenly, she wanted to ask why it was so bare. But felt it rather rude. “You haven’t spoken much, is everything alright?” Quietly, she spun to face the man.
He slipped a hand beneath her chin in a way that reminded her so terribly of Richard—yet he felt all the more different. Warm. Kind. As though he didn’t have the desire to wrap his arms around her in a tight embrace and crush her shoulders. She’d gotten that feeling from Richard. “Did you want me to take you home?” As his eyes s
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Blue, deciding being of legal age to adopt a whole child meant she had every right to, openly disobeyed her curfew. Staring at the man from across the breakfast table, as she had been for quite some time, some part however reluctant knew she’d made the right choice. He’d dressed as he had the day before, a simple pair of jeans and the same white blouse he seemed to own many of. They had stopped by Calvin Klein. Though she’d pulled out her emergency black card, Vincent insisted on paying for the jeans. She’d borrowed yet another version of his same button-up from him. Tucked the front into her trousers. Stumbled along in the heels she’d worn the night before. Hair drying in delicate curls around her face, skin bare, eyes bleary, he decided it best she kept it. She’d worn it better than he ever could. They’d found some quiet cafe around the corner of his apartment. Citrus and coffee beans battled in the air. Dimly lit. Th
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Padding down the stairs as though the price of being caught was her very life, Blue peered around the corner. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wished Vincent would be sitting at the table as he had been that fateful day before. His shoulders would be squared. Mouth set in the same firm line, curling at the edges like kindled parchment. Eyes so sharp and dark she could swear he’d silently planned to kill them all for spare change. Staring at her longingly. Gaze as warm as it had been gawking at her wrapped in his bedsheets. Her coffee hadn’t kept her full quite as long as she’d hoped. Blue had planned to eat with Anya after her parents had gone to bed—something she had quite often. Yet the smell of the cheap burrito she’d eaten with Vincent lingered on her breath. Each exhale made her stomach roar. Fate was a cruel mistress. Meeting the gaze of her waiting mother planted rather stiffly at the dining table, Blue hadn’t the same sorrow
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