Page 92 of Veil of Obsession

“Like two years ago. It was literally the worst day ever because I was terrified that you were going to find me and kill me.” She’s fighting a giggle.

“We’re fucked up.”

That makes her break. She laughs, doubling over. “I know, but you’re more fucked up than me. Who dates their stalker?”

“I’m out to set records, not to be average.”

We pause, staring at each other, a beat passing before we both start laughing.

Jesus.

“I need to go home. It’s already so late,” Princess says, looking at her phone.

“We can leave if you want, but you won’t go back to that house. You’ll stay with me.” I draw circles with my thumb on her palm.

“Stay where with you? No, Lucio.”

“Yes, you’re staying with me at my apartment. There’s no way that I’ll let you go back to that house.” I lift my palm, stopping her from trying to argue. “Don’t even try to convince me otherwise.”

35

Princess

Ican’t believe I’m staying at his apartment, like I belong here. No one has messaged me since I left the house a couple of hours back. Lucio is pouring himself a drink, but I don’t touch my vodka. Instead, I watch him. I didn’t know a man could be sexy when pouring a drink.

“Something on your mind?” he asks, walking over and setting his drink beside mine.

“No. Just worried about what’s going to happen after all of this is over.” I admit.

I don’t know why I tell him the truth, but I’m tired of the lying and hiding. He brushes his hand over my uninjured cheek before grabbing my chin and turning my face a little, his gaze roaming over the swollen skin.

“I need to clean and patch that up for you. Just a minute.” Lucio gets up and moves toward his kitchen; I can hear him rummaging around in there.

I take the opportunity to text Kaito and tell him that I won’t be coming back home tonight.

Me:

Hey, Kaito.

I won’t be home tonight.

Kaito:

Stay safe.

I’ll let dad know, because he wasn’t aware that you…

Left.

Me:

Thanks.

Lucio comes back, the first aid kit in his hand. He moves our drinks out of the way before sitting on the coffee table in front of me.

“Come closer,” he says, motioning for me to move forward.

I do, but after he sets the first aid kit down, his tattooed hands wrap around my thighs and he pulls me even closer. Swallowing hard, I try to avoid looking at his hands, arms, and legs. He grips my jaw, turning my head to the side, then wipes the area with a disinfecting wipe. It stings so bad that I wince and try to pull back.