Destined

Chapter Five

Elena

This man was fucking insane. Out of his goddamn mind. My room was...my room. Literally a copy-and-paste version of it. How the fuck? What the fuck?

No, like, what the actual fuck?

How was it possible for him to get every single detail of my room done correctly? It didn't make sense. I didn't know him. I'd never met him. No one's ever met him and lived to tell the tale. Yet he showed up on my wedding day, no less, with my favorite flowers and my name on his skin.

My mind was struggling to wrap around the events that transpired, and I knew I'd never understand them. He was Oisín Callahan.

The Oisín Callahan.

The rumors and stories people spewed about him were terrifying, enough to make your blood run cold. What if he brought me here to kill me?

It didn't make sense for him to kill me, especially after making a scene, slapping a ring on my finger, and forcing the priest to marry us. Right? Right. Reflexively, my eyes darted to the ring on my finger.

I hated how it was the ring of my dreams; an emerald cut with an enormously shiny and very rare blue diamond. It had white diamonds around the center stone and diamonds down the band's side.

Disgusted by myself and my appreciation of my wedding ring, I took it off and tossed it on the bed, not wanting the feel of it on my finger for a second longer. I didn't want anything to tie me to that barbarian outside.

I couldn't believe I was here. This day went from shit to shittier to the absolute fucking shittiest. It all happened so fast, and now that I was alone in a creepy-stalker version of my room, I didn't know how to process it.

If he thought this room would bring me some sort of comfort, then he was even more unhinged than I initially thought. I didn't even want to know how he knew what my room looked like or what my favorite flowers were.

The creep thought of how he knew all of this sent a shiver down my spine. The bed was in the center of the room, and the details got creepier as I saw he even got the same pillows and blankets.

My shelf of cooking books I owned, along with new ones, was hung precisely how I had it hung over a little reading nook with a couch and cotton throw blanket.

I walked to the closet, and my hands were shaking when I saw that they were all my clothes. Frantic, I went to the dresser and ripped out the drawers. My bras, panties, lingerie, and even my socks were all there.

My heart was jackhammering in my chest, and my breathing grew difficult and short. Was this guy a stalker or just a fucking creep? How did he get all of my belongings here?

I stepped back outside and went to the desk he had, and opened the drawers. I sobbed when I saw the picture frame. It was a picture of my nonna and me together. I first took it as a selfie since my nonna hated photos, then later printed it out to frame it.

I looked through the drawers and saw the other frames I had. I had one of my father and me, one of my parents, and one of us together. I gripped them tightly and curled up with them on my bed. I held them to my chest and stayed in bed crying for, I don't know how long.

My sobs were disgustingly filled with raspy hiccups and loud sniffles, but I didn't care who heard me. I missed my family, and I missed my home. My actual home. Despite the hurt and pain he caused me, I missed Enzo, and I missed Marcelo.

He didn't deserve to die the way he did. I never even got to admit my feelings to him, and then I was forced to in front of everyone, only for him to die. I blamed myself and hated myself. My mind tortured me as it bombarded me with images of Marcelo's limp, bullet-riddled body, and I cried even harder.