11. CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

Dahlia

M y alarm goes off at precisely four in the morning.

I've slept like the dead, got in more hours than I normally do. My target kissed life goodbye faster than the others, and I was here by eleven, in bed by eleven-thirty and out like a light.

A good night's sleep was supposed to make me feel better. Alive.

It hasn't done any of it.

The same itch I've felt over the last three days crawls up my skin, starting in my toes. Up my feet, ankles and legs it goes. Between my thighs. At the delicious, painful tingle, I clench them.

Doesn't help. Dammit. I cross one leg over another. Nothing.

Nothing helps .

The infuriating craving spreads higher to my navel, to my breasts. Choking me with longing. From missing Tyler's tongue on me. In my mouth. On my pussy.

I loathe this…this doing nothing. This waiting it out .

Baiting Tyler is a nightmare.

Being the bigger person is worse, especially when you're five-one.

I'm done giving him his space. It's fucking bullshit, is what it is. I've been doing it for the last four years and I am done.

Stalking him in the street isn't enough. Creeping up into his apartment won't do anymore.

Tyler has had minutes and hours and months to realize fate isn't an entity. That it's not a hanger, waiting for us around the corner. He should've realized already that being with me isn't dangerous. I won't die of it. He won't, either.

Then again—ugh. My eyes aren't even open yet and I already roll them. Maybe the fact that I'm alive and well and have been for four years convinced him otherwise. Proved his point to himself.

Oh, man. I'll have to up my game if that's the case. Will need to bait him better than I already have.

He'll give in, eventually. Right?

Right?

Or he won't.

Angry tears well behind my closed eyes. They tickle the corners, itching to get out.

Focus, Dahlia. Think of your cupcakes.

Trick or Cheese. The first Halloween cupcake I ever baked. A take on the basic cookies and cream cheesecake with my own unique twist. I crush the cookies and use the crumbs to spell BOO! on top.

The idea came to me while I was still Tyler's ward. During those days, I loved Halloween out of spite to the dead Al. He wouldn't get to win. I would.

When I told Tyler, my nerdy, beautiful, and strong guardian about my idea, he loved it. He loved that I wanted to have Halloween specials once I opened my shop. Encouraged me to come up with a whole collection of those.

He didn't spell it out for me—didn't have to—but I could tell why. He wanted the old memories of Al gone, same as I have. Wanted new ones to be written in the pages of my history instead.

Thinking of him doesn't make the incessant need go away. It only makes it worse. My hand is dying to sneak beneath the covers. But if I do that, Tyler will be all I think of. Then I'll cry because he's not here.

Some mornings are just like that. Painful.

Ingredients. Focus on the ingredients.

Sandwich cookies. Vanilla extract. Powdered sugar. Heavy cream. Unsalted butter. Sugar. Cream cheese. Eggs, can't forget about those. And the large delivery that's due later this morning.

So many cupcakes are due as well.

No time for wallowing.

No time for anything other than getting out of bed.

"A Post-it?" I scrunch my nose. Tear the piece of paper off the pillow .

For the tiniest moment, my heart swells. Tyler was here. We—well, I—had pressed lots of Post-its to the furniture at his old place when I was his ward. His grandma thought it was cute that I pointed out he snored. Tyler would smile or tell me that I was lying.

I was.

The man sleeps like… not like the dead. Like a statue. Peaceful. Brow furrowed sometimes. Never snores.

But that was my way of letting him know I snuck into his place at night.

Just like he did last night. He was here and I was asleep.

He was here and he left me an empty note.

What the fuck is this?

I hate this stupid mood. Hate that I can't control my wallowing.

And I refuse to be upset. I refuse to allow this other feeling to come over me. This no-Tyler pain that attacked me on Halloween four years ago. I can do it without Tyler in the meantime.

Because Al's not here. Al's not here. Al's not here.

Al's here.

Motherfucker. His bleeding, grinning image materializes a few feet away, in the living room. He's alive again. His teeth are red and he's spitting blood on my floor.

Mine.

I growl at him.

Al. Is. Not. Fucking. Here.

Tyler was. We'll be together by the end of the month. I'll make sure of that .

"Go away," I snarl.

His image begins to fade at my voice. At the reassurance that I'll have Tyler with me to take the pain away. Killing people helps too.

No more Al. I flip the ghost of him off anyway.

Without him here, I'm back to staring at the Post-it. Maybe Tyler wasn't in the mood to write anything. Maybe he left a note on my body like he always does.

My fingers slide beneath my sweater and T-shirt, tracing my breasts. The undersides aren't sticky. The swells of my breasts aren't either. My nipples are soft and smooth.

Al's back. Cackling at me for being pathetic.

Normally, the sight of him would fuel my murderous urges. It'd push me to shower and dress fast, to go feed my stray dogs extra early.

This morning isn't just any morning. Tyler has left a message on my body and I will find it. Fuck this fake Al.

My belly. There. It's there. Baby crows caw in my chest at the sticky feeling. They're as alive and thrilled as I am.

The note was Tyler's way of telling me he visited. The cum was how he let me know he loved me.

Al vanishes into thin air, hopefully for good.

Tyler's helped me push him away. My Tyler.

Breathing doesn't hurt as badly anymore. I'm far less angry. My softer side—the part that's obsessed with Tyler and not with killing people as a form of therapy—resurfaces.

"You were here," I sigh, letting my fingertips brush across the note.

The sticky center, I notice, now that I'm paying attention .

I've never turned on the lamp on my bedside table so fast in my entire life.

"Sneaky, sweet asshole," I murmur to myself as I hold the note up to the light. As the letters he undoubtedly wrote in cum shine under the light.

Mine .

"Tyler." My lips press gently to the note. My nose sniffs the familiar scent of Tyler's semen. "You need a push in the right direction? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

I look at each letter with longing in my eyes. In my soul.

"I'll give you that. I'll show you nothing bad happens when we're together. To other people, yes. To us? Never. You'll see. You will see."

The morning flew by while I did my thing. Baked cupcakes. Worked on frosting and decorations for my Halloween specials. Ground the freeze-dried meat, peppered it over dog food, and fed it to the five strays I love with my whole heart.

The other eleven months of the year, they miss the taste. Obviously, they can't tell me they do. I'm aware dogs don't speak English.

But I see it in my babies' eyes. It's glaringly obvious that they miss feeding on the bad, bad people they get to have every October.

The bones are nice, no argument there. Nothing beats skin and meat, though .

Ten minutes after I serve them the patches of skin, it's gone. The dog food in the form of powder? Five minutes, and it's gone. They annihilate the human flesh, unlike any other dog food brand I'd ever gotten them.

Cute, furry creatures.

They're well-fed now. Will survive until the evening.

My morning customers have been just as pleased with my cupcakes. Time to close up for lunch.

"Dahlia. Dahlia, please. Could I come in?" Kelly, another returning customer, knocks on the glass door to my shop. "The subway was late. I have meetings all the way through the night after lunch. Please."

Her blue eyes are wide and her brown hair clings to her sweaty forehead. The sign says Closed . I'm behind the counter removing my apron. She still knocks and knocks regardless.

The need to move forward with my plans for Tyler collides with my empathy. Kelly's always been nice. She even bought a cupcake for another woman whose credit card was declined.

Ugh, fine. Stalking Ty will have to wait another minute or so.

At least I won't have to waste time changing out of my clothes. A comfortable long-sleeved T-shirt and yoga leggings will help me climb the fire escape to his apartment. My Chucks are on, but I'm always wearing those. Oh, and of course, the Post-it I stuck in the waistline of my panties.

I'll just need to throw on my hoodie and I'll be ready to head out.

Once I'm done with Kelly .

"Thank you." She squeezes my shoulders when I let her in. It takes her all of a second to pick up on my strained smile. "I'll be quick, I swear. Trick or Cheese. Two of those. If there's any left, I mean. Please say you have two left."

The cupcakes I thought about this morning. The cupcakes that calmed my nerves. This has to be a sign. A good omen. I did the right thing by letting her in. Fate brought her to me. If only Tyler could be here to witness this. That fate isn't just fire and brimstone. That fate is more than destruction.

"I'll go grab your order."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you," Kelly calls out from behind me. Her heels clink on the tiled floor. "Wait, Dahlia. I asked for two, not four, but…" A giggle. "I'll take that. I'll just have to hide them in the office freezer so no one would steal them from me."

She keeps yapping about how her coworkers eat her food sometimes. How she can't wait to land that promotion and have her own office with her own fridge, where no one would touch her food.

I listen to her. Sure, I do. I don't answer, though. I'm busy wrapping the four cupcakes up, tying up the box with my favorite skull-patterned black silk ribbon.

"Here." Her wide smile is radiant as she hands me her credit card. "Take my money. Take all of it."

Kelly means it as a joke. I like jokes.

I like stalking Tyler more. Every second here is one that I spend away from him.

"That won't be necessary. "

"Dahlia, no. Please, take my card. I can afford it." There's nothing fake about Kelly's indignance. "Charge me for all four."

She doesn't want a freebie.

Sucks for her. She's getting it.

"Nope."

First, I shove the box into her hands. Then I grab my hoodie from under the counter, push past the swinging door, and nudge Kelly out to the street.

"But—"

"But nothing." I lock the door behind us, looking around the area in search of Tyler.

Stalker boy isn't here today.

"I have bills if you can't take credit today. Here, let me just—"

"No, no, and no." I muffle Kelly's hair, even though she's taller and older than me. "This is me thanking you for dropping by. You're one of my favorite customers."

Tonight's target will have a completely different kind of thank you thrown her way. The murderous kind.

"Thank you," she says while I shrug my hoodie on and slip the shop key into the front pocket.

She says more, though it's impossible to hear her.

I'm already crossing the street and speeding toward Tyler's.

The building where Tyler lives is nicer than mine. Much nicer.

He should've lived in a great place like that much sooner. But no, he chose to stay in our old crappy one. His grandma wouldn't move out.

That wasn't the only reason, though.

I wouldn't move out, kept waiting for Ian. So he stayed there, where he could be close to me. Help me. Be my friend.

He'd been appointed to be my legal guardian soon after I murdered Al. Wasted no time filing for the papers. Made sure I didn't spend a single day in a foster home. Not a second in the system.

They came for me, of course they did. Tyler wouldn't let them take me. He put himself between me and the cops. Me and the social service blond man who brushed his hair to the side and had his glasses drooping down his nose.

Tyler, at twenty-seven, saved me. He said—no, insisted —I wouldn't be better off elsewhere. That given the trauma I'd endured, a foster home could screw with what little sanity I had left.

He wasn't lying. My fingers were constantly clutched onto his hoodie. My teeth scraped my bottom teeth, drawing blood. And the scar on my neck, fuck, that hurt so bad. It burned harder after Ian fled. Burned and burned and burned.

Without Tyler and his grandma, I would've happily traipsed off the ledge of sanity. Thrown myself head-first into the depths of hell.

That was how he became my legal guardian. It wasn't enough, though. I wanted more from him.

"Stay where you are, Dahlia," Tyler said from his place on the floor .

The cops were gone. My apartment had been barricaded with yellow tape. It was just the two of us in their living room.

And I had one of my feet off the sofa bed.

Mrs. Price had offered me to share her bed earlier that evening, and I'd declined. Claimed the bedroom felt claustrophobic. That I needed space. Air.

I lied. After two days of watching my uncle decaying—two days where I pissed myself and cried and prayed for Ian to be safe—Tyler had come for me. He'd saved me from the authorities. From being taken to a foster home.

But I didn't need his kindness. I needed Tyler . I loved him.

I fell for him harder with every second we spent together.

Except he didn't love me back. Not like I wanted. He'd kept a safe distance from me. Let me have the sofa bed while he took the floor.

"Why?" I placed my second foot on the floor. "Why can't I sleep next to you?"

Tyler glowered at me. Even from the floor, he looked intimidating.

"It's inappropriate." More glaring. Both my feet were back up on the sofa bed. Beneath the covers. Fucking frustrating. "You're fifteen."

"I killed a man," I huffed. "I'm a woman. A badass woman."

"Life dealt you a shitty hand, little savage." He perched his cheek on his hand. "Doesn't make you an adult. It makes you beautifully scarred. Courageous. You're still a kid."

"Fuck being a kid."

His laugh rumbled in his chest. Reached the most inner parts of me. He had the loveliest, most carefree laugh I'd ever heard in my life .

"I love you, Dahlia." Stubborn Tyler was strong. His words kept me in place despite the incessant need to crawl down and hug him. "Just not like that."

My frustration grew tenfold.

"I want you." Angry tears flooded my eyes. Rolled down my cheeks. Each word was a furious sob. "Is it the scars? That's why you're making up this bullshit excuse about my age?"

"It's not a bullshit excuse." His eyes softened, as did his voice. "My brain isn't wired that way. I'm not into kids."

"You love someone else." I bared my teeth. Readying myself for murder.

"There's no one. There hasn't been anyone." The honesty in his voice didn't soothe me. It just brought more and more tears. Ones I couldn't explain. "I do love you. That has to be enough."

You're mine, you're mine. Please say I'm yours.

Silence.

"Tyler." Sniff. Sob. Sniff. Sob. "Please."

"Little savage." He got up, pulled the blankets over my shoulders. "Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be better."

It wasn't. The days after weren't great, either. Even when I took over my parents' old shop. Even though Tyler hasn't dated since.

I want him to be mine.

And I'm getting him.

I should be worried that a nice neighbor in this nice building might report me for climbing the fire escape in broad daylight.

That a particularly too-nice-neighbor would use it as an excuse to talk to my Tyler .

Pretty, happy, smiling Rita. The flirty neighbor Ty ignores like she doesn't exist. She never sees me when I'm up here. Never sees me when I'm hiding in the shadows of an alleyway across the street watching her trying and failing to flirt with him.

She hasn't, and she won't. She won't see much of anything soon.

My nails bite into the inside of my palms. The tattoo on my neck burns.

Restraining the surge of jealousy I have toward her doesn't come easy. But if I scream or punch the brick wall next to Tyler's window, he'll know I'm here. He'll scold me for risking my life. He'll order me to leave.

Or worse.

He'll lick me, hold off an orgasm, and send me away. Make me angry just so I won't return. So we won't be together and another tragic accident will rip us apart.

I wish I could resent him for it. As always, I can't. Tyler's not selfish. That day we lost everything—the day I lost Tyler—he said I'll never let anything happen to you. This ends here.

He's keeping our lives separate for my sake.

His slightly unhinged psyche orders him to do so.

I don't have to like it to accept it. I don't have to like it to come here.

My body cools from the walk as I sit there, waiting for him to show up in the living room. I hug my arms to my body, rubbing my forearms. Small movements I allow myself, other than tilting my head to peek inside the apartment .

There he is. My stalker. The man who invaded my home and heart.

The love of my life. The man who gave me the best morning ever. Almost. The one thing that'd top his kinky note would have been to actually have him in my bed.

Oh, shush, Dahlia.

Right. I said I wouldn't wallow, and I won't. I've been waiting for four years, and I'm not sad. I'm longing.

I'm hot as fuck for him.

Can't stop looking at him. My man, wearing his black T-shirt and light jeans. He hasn't combed his bed hair, though it's way past noon. Or maybe he has, and he's run his hands through his hair.

He lowers to one of the wooden chairs on the dining table, typing something on his laptop. This can't be comfortable, sitting on that chair for hours. Maybe he likes the pain.

So many questions I'll have to ask him once we're together.

My man.

It sounds so good.

Lucifer personified sounds even better.

The man is dark . He's still my Tyler, my guardian. He's also twisted. Angry. Ruthless. Even with his back to me, even with a window separating us, I feel it.

His power. His intensity. The black hole that sucks me right in.

I bet he could drag me into the pits of hell and pull me back out, if he wished .

I wish he'd believe that, too.

I'll make him.

In the meantime, I watch him working. There's code on the screen of his laptop. Numbers and letters flashing on a black screen. I never understand what it means. But since his job is a part of him, I like it regardless. The games of his company, I don't care for those.

Tyler's not the creative behind them. Just those long strings of code. That I could watch for hours.

"I can't concentrate for shit," he says to the empty room, running his hand through his hair. Sighing.

He's so handsome when he's upset. More delicious than any cupcake I've ever baked.

And what's this? How have I missed this? He's picking up a fork, sinking it into a piece of chocolate cake.

Cake!

My little baker's heart flutters. Tears well in my eyes. He's not cheating on me by buying cupcakes from another place.

I'm about to break the vow I made to myself. Jump into his apartment and sink my teeth into his neck. Scream that I'll never leave. That he'll have to get over himself and keep me.

He'll have to be mine and let me be his, even if the world bursts into flames. Even if there's nothing left but him and I.

I pinch my forearm, waking myself the fuck up. I'm not up here to force myself on him. I'm here to seduce him.

Seduction, much like killing a person, is a form of art. It can't be rushed. Has to be done right. The way I planned it this morning.

Tyler pushes his chair back .

"I'll deal with you later." He gets up. Rakes his fingers through his hair again. It stays perfectly messy.

Now's the time for me to act. I press my ear to Tyler's window, listening to the sound of him peeing. Ugh, I missed that. I could hear anything he did in our tiny apartments.

But being nostalgic is a privilege I don't have at the moment. The clock's ticking. I have to hurry. And I do. I push his window up. Climb inside his apartment ever so quietly.

Flush.

Thank fuck I scribbled the first part of the note back home.

I'm quick to fish it out of my leggings and straighten the crumpled Post-it. The ink didn't smear during the long hours I've been at work.

You were always on my mind is written there. Black on yellow. My lips tug in a smirk. Tyler would understand the meaning behind the title of Elvis's song.

He'll remember us watching "Practical Magic" again and again. How Jimmy Angelov was brought back from the dead and sang this to Gillian. I hated it when he was abusive to her.

The dedication, though.

Tyler knows I thought that was epic.

He'll remember.

He'll also touch the note.

The water in the sink in his bathroom starts running. I'm quick to shove my hand into my leggings. I'm already dripping from watching Tyler being himself. So wet I wish I could rub one out .

Wish, but can't. Tyler washes his hands longer than most people do—he's clean like that—but he won't be there forever. I settle for sliding my finger along my clit as I pull my hand out and stifle a moan.

Don't fuck things up because you wanted to fuck your hand.

Right.

I do what I came here for. Slap the Post-it on the table next to his laptop. Use my arousal as ink and scribble the same word Tyler had the night before.

The tiny space under the letters I wrote with a pen will have to do.

And it does.

Mine .

Always mine.