When I’m seated again, I glance back in her direction. I notice her chest is now shuddering as she tries to calm her breathing. I sit there in silence, unsure of what to do next. If this were an ordinary case, she would be dead and buried by now. Only, Jessa is anything but ordinary. About an hour later, her breathing has become steadier and deeper as if she’s asleep. I return to the middle of the room and gaze down at her perfect elegance. That’s when I decide parting with her would be a mistake. She’s much too lovely to leave. I need to keep her around.
For a little while longer at least.
As I sit in the diner, I am overwhelmed with a feeling of sadness. Something that has never happened to me before, after a kill; even though I couldn’t actually go through with it.
Is that why I’m so sad? I grab a cigarette out of the package and light it up as I watch the waitress refill my coffee.
“More coffee, suga?” the waitress asks me in a southern drawl. It makes me wonder where she is from and how she found herself here in Los Angeles. She probably came to try and make it as an actress, like most people.
“No. Thank you,” I reply softly.
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
I watch as her fingers curl around the handle of the coffee pot as she walks away. They aren’t beautiful; not like Jessa’s.
No, I’m not sad because I chose to let Jessa live. Her talent is too grand to have taken. I couldn’t steal the chance to hear more of what her fingers have to say, to watch different emotions cross her face as she plays her beautiful melodies.
I come to the realization that I miss her already.
Just as I decide that I will go back to the warehouse tonight, instead of tomorrow, I look up from the black abyss swirling gently in my cup and lock eyes with one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen. His narrow eyes hold my sad stare hostage. His features are feline, like a kitty, and it reminds me of the way my cheek ran across Jessa’s skin a couple of hours ago. I watch intently as he brings his fork to his mouth, his lips catching a crumb as he pulls the food from the utensil.
Jessa is beautiful, but this man is exquisite.
I hear the clank of the fork as it connects with his plate after he lowers it from his mouth. He picks up his napkin and presses it to his lips. That’s when I really notice them; his hands. The way his fingers move as he wipes them on the thin paper. He continues moving them, waving them back and forth as if enticing me on purpose. As if he is aware of my proclivity and wishes to be played with. I try to tear my gaze from him, but nothing works.
When I can no longer stand it, I tamp out my cigarette and walk to where he sits. Something about him calls to me. Not as a kill, but rather someone who’s soul has reached out and captured mine.
It will hold me hostage and never let me go.
Chapter 2
I take a sip of my room-temperature water, never taking my eyes off the man who’s approached me and interrupted my meal. Perhaps I invited him with a stare—but some invitations are better left unanswered.
It happens more often than not, that my feral gaze will wander and rest on some unsuspecting person at any given time. Most times, that person doesn’t live much longer after, but this one—something is different about him, and while I’m not entirely sure what it is, I’d like to find out before I head back to work.
“Something I can do for you?” I finally ask in a quiet tone, lowering my eyes to the semi-used napkin on my lap.
It comes across as harsh and unwelcoming, yet he doesn’t seem deterred by it.
Good, I think, fighting the smile that’s attempting to curve the edge of my lips.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t help notice your …” his voice trails off and I glance up at him again with an arched eyebrow. “Um …” he rubs the back of his neck uneasily and I lean back in my seat as I begin to drum my fingers along the tabletop. When I’ve had enough of his obvious discomfort, I nod at the seat across from me.
He smiles gratefully, almost in relief, as he sits and watches my fingers as they meticulously continue to tap along the dirty cloth hiding an old wooden table underneath.
That’s part of the reason I choose this diner as often as I do.
It has secrets it likes to hide—just like me.
I take a deep breath as I lower my hands to my lap and turn my face away for a moment, my tongue gently caressing my lower lip, before I turn my attention back to him.
“Was there a reason you came over?”
I’m used to being stared at because I look so different from everyone else. I usually don’t mind it, but I have to head out soon and I don’t have time to play the guessing game with an obviously strange man in the middle of the night.
He lets out his breath as he leans an elbow on the table, extends a hand toward me, and waits.
Do I want to make his actual acquaintance, though?