Stella Starlet

Bloodshot

Carlisle's Point of View

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I knew Stella was still angry with me but I wanted to check up on her.

When I got to her apartment, I knocked on the door and waited to hear the sound of her voice. 

There was no sound.

I knocked again. And again. Still nothing.

I gripped the door handle and found that it was unlocked. 

As I entered the apartment, the whole place was in chaos. Everything was shattered, rendered, shredded, or smashed. Her dining room table was split down the middle, caving in. Her couch was ripped all over and the stuffing was oozing out. The kitchen had dishes and glasses shattered all over the floor. On the stove, there was a skillet of burnt food laying there.

"Shit." Stella wouldn't leave that on the stove, she was always telling me about how she hated leaving anything on the stove. 

After looking through the whole house, there was no one there. Stella was gone and I didn't think she was out at the supermarket or doing something mundane. Her whole house was demolished. 

Enzo. 

Enzo did this. 

Enzo was in danger. I wasn't going to let him hurt Stella.

As I went back to my car and drove down the streets like a fucking maniac, going fifty miles over the speed limit to where one of Enzo's houses was. 

There were no words for what I felt in that moment. It was a concoction of fury and fear that made my mind soar to the brink of insanity; playing a dangerous game of balancing upon the line of sanity and insanity, tipping back and forth between the two.

When I reached the home, I got out of the car before it was fully stopped. Slamming the door shut, I raced to the door and used one of the keys I had.

Inside, body guards stood in the room, waiting for someone to make a wrong move. They recognized me and let me past to the wing where Enzo's office was.

I pulled out my pistol as I opened the door.

"You fucking take what's mine?" I shouted.

Enzo sat there, his eyes bloodshot and worn. His suit was crinkled and in his hand was a bottle of cognac.

He looked at me in the eyes, no emotion showing as he downed a quarter of the bottle.

"You better fucking talk."

He slammed the bottle on the desk. "She's gone, you fucking idiot."

"Why? Why the hell would she just run off?" 

He grinned a wicked, evil smile. "Because I threatened her. You know, because while she was off whoring around with you, I was here wondering where the fuck my god damn Lolita was. She's somewhere on this planet, and I've sent out almost every man to go look for her."

"You're the reason she's gone. And now look at you. Sitting at your desk, drinking and looking like some washed-up piece of shit."

That was when he slammed the bottle across to the wall, cognac and glass falling like rain and tear drops. 

He slammed me against the wooden walls of his office. "Fuck you, Carlisle!" He shouted. "I . . . Fuck!" He released me from his tight grip and went to his desk, wiping every object that resided there onto the floor.

He leaned against the desk and put his face in his hands. "God . . . What the hell did I do?"

Enzo looked up at me. His eyes were bloodshot, desperate. A broken man hid behind those same eyes, with regret and anger ricochetting between the walls of his very own mind. 

"I'lll tell you what you did. You're a fuck up so naturally, you fucked up. Stella is mine Enzo, you're never going to have her again."

"You've known her for such a short time. I've known her for years, seen every good and bad moment of hers. And you think you can come in here on some nonexistent white horse and steal her from me?" He looked up at me and pulled out his pistol from his waistband. "I'll kill you first."

We both pointed out weapons at each other. "Carlisle, I hated you from the goddamn start." 

It was almost like we fired simultaneously. A bullet buried itself in Enzo's chest while a bullet lodged into my shoulder. As soon as Enzo hit the floor, clutching his chest, the door was slammed open and his fucking goons joined the party. 

Before they had time to react, I fired at them all. One by one, they fell to the floor like some sick-twisted domino game. 

I chuckled a humorless laugh as I wiped splattered blood off my jaw. "Anyone else?" I shouted.

All I got in return was the sound of silence except my own voice echoing off the marble walls and gold-clad staircases.

I opened the front door and walked out, realizing I had no where to start looking for Stella. 

I called my men and told them to hack everywhere and look at security video footage across the whole country. 

It was foolish of me really, acting like some righteous mad dog trying to locate a woman who didn't want to be found with every ounce of desperation I possessed.

For Christ's sake, I barely knew Stella. I was sitting on that damn balcony at that auction smoking a cigar when she walked to the edge, leaning on the railing. I watched her, sheathed by the shadow of the night.

There was something about her that just enthralled me. I had seen so many beautiful women before but Stella was not like them. Those women were flawless, and the only way to achieve perfection like that was to go through the suffering of needles and knives and the dissatisfaction of one's own very body. 

I would constantly think that yes, they were physically perfect, not a blemish or wrinkle on their skin, tanned legs, and bright eyes. 

But inside, I wondered if they felt perfect. I didn't miss the way the happiness in their eyes could shut off in a second, replaced by a dismal, sad young girl.

Stella was different. She was ivory-pale, she had splotches of acne, she freely ate every tub of ice cream she could get her hands on, and she swore like a sailor. 

To me, every single one of her imperfections made her a step closer to perfection. 

I didn't know if I loved her or not, but I wanted to be better for her. I wanted to clean up my act and have a child and name it some stupid-ass name that made us laugh. 

I banged my head against the steering wheel. 

I may never see her again.