ROSES AND RUIN

Chapter Nine:

~The line between control and chaos is dangerously thin.~

Present.

~Dorian.~

I should kill her. The thought struck, dark and unbidden, burrowing itself into my mind with intoxicating ease— and not for the first time since her arrival. 

The first instance had occurred immediately after she’d opened her mouth— not to introduce herself or get straight to the point of her visit, but to lecture me on manners instead. All while ignoring every visible sign of my rising irritation.

Ordinarily, such disregard was a deadly mistake— one I wouldn't tolerate, least of all from a stranger. But fortunately for her, cold, rational logic prevented me from acting on my instinct this time, reminding me that her presence here served a purpose— one I needed to unravel before deciding her fate…

But my patience was wearing thin, and it certainly didn't help when, after I'd demanded an explanation, she’d launched instead into an absurd tale about a girlfriend’s birthday—  supposedly taking place here in my apartment, which, according to the ridiculous story she was going with, somehow also belonged to her girlfriend. 

The notion was laughable, damn… but there was something unnervingly specific about it. 

A prickle of unease and suspicion ran through me, along with the impression that she must've been here before, to speak with such conviction. The possibility became a looming one in my mind, but I had no concrete evidence for such a claim. Yet. But judging by how convinced she seemed by her own story— enough to get exasperated by my refusal to accept her words as anything other than the poorly constructed lies they were— I'd wondered just who'd fed it to her and, ultimately, how stupid one had to be to even believe it. Not even a fool should've been able to do so, in my opinion. 

Hell, the sheer lack of creativity in formulating such an unbelievable lie was almost offensive— made even more so by her haughty behavior.

Maybe she was mentally incapacitated— in which case, she'd be far better suited for a mental institution than where she stood glaring at me in my own home. 

I didn't even know whether or not to take her seriously at first— I was just flat-out infuriated and irritated. I already had enough demands on my time as it was without having to indulge in these games, and she seemed rather intent on wasting what little remained— whether through going around in circles like this as a means of distraction, or some other hidden agenda… But even more troubling than that was her condescending way of speaking to me— almost as if she had no idea who I was...

But that was impossible.

Everyone knew me— or thought they did— but there was no form of recognition in her eyes whatsoever. And with her initial air of nonchalance and the insolent manner in which she'd prattled away, it'd taken me a great level of patience and equal effort not to smack those lips, just to keep them from moving. Anything to spare me another word of her thinly veiled insults and poorly thought-out lies. But all that had, in its own way, captured my attention— whether she'd intended it or not.

I was a firm believer that no one in their right mind would defy me so openly and deny me the answers I deserved— all while fully aware of who I was and what I was capable of. 

And in my own home, no less.

But then her wide-eyed shock, when reality had finally dawned on her, had been so palpable— the flash of genuine confusion, mixed with a level of vulnerability that couldn't completely be faked, almost gave me pause.