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It wasn’t an easy transition, working multiple jobs while I went through art school, but it was worth it. Painting was my outlet, my passion, and my therapy. Growing up, I never seemed to fit in, no matter where I went or who I was with.

Sighing, I shrugged the dreary memories off and let my mind wander to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding. I had never met anyone like him. There was some part of me that reacted to him on a visceral level. He hadn’t said much, and I was almost grateful for it, overwhelmed and oversensitive in his presence.

Never once did I feel fear, though. That was both an interesting and positive realization. After Kyle, I wasn’t having the best reactions to being in close quarters with unfamiliar men, especially large, intimidating ones. There was something disarming about Eliot despite his imposing appearance.

Maybe it was the way he was with Elizabeth, the bond between the two evident. He treated her like spun glass, fragile and priceless. His mother, on the other hand, ruled with an iron fist and directed the conversation as soon as she caught sight of her son.

Why can’t I get them off my mind? Am I so desperate for connection that I am making more of a simple interaction—a mistaken one, at that? Maybe it was envy. Their relationship was one that didn’t exist in my world.

Their connection was obvious in the way she spoke about them, the number of mundane facts she had brought up even amidst her disorientation. Elizabeth knew far more about her son than my parents knew about me. They handed over the task of managing my daily life to a slew of nannies and tutors. They cultivated my interests to match theirs, but I never quite took to them.

Desperate and clingy; I had been accused of that my whole life. First, by my family, and then mirrored in later relationships. It was what made going at things alone so important to me—a concrete measure of my success. The more I accomplished, the more I proved them wrong and found some degree of self-worth.

It had been a year since I blew up my life and started over. Some days, it felt like I was clawing my way out of a fathomless pit, fighting a fate I couldn’t avoid. Then, there were other moments of quiet discovery that broke through the darkness, feeding my energy and igniting my curiosity.

A chill ran down my spine, and I turned to look out the large window near the door. It was a little after 5 a.m., the streets still quiet, but the morning rush was on the horizon. The sky was dusty, a mix of greys and blues, never the same color in more than one spot.

There was a woman walking a dog and a man waiting at a bus stop, but other than them, the area was pretty empty. Ignoring the feeling, I blamed it on my wayward thoughts—the hyperfocus on the strangers who had invaded my house the other day.

My imagination was on the loose again, and I was creating an entire story in my head, putting emotions that didn’t occur into a memory of what, in reality, had been just a brief encounter. I was the only one holding on to it.

Like always, I clung to the silly hope that I mattered to someone, that anyone reciprocated a fraction of what I felt for them.

Chapter 5

Scythe

Two days. That was as long as I lasted before I caved and went to find out more about my angel. The urge to see or hear anything about Lilah haunted me. It wasn’t so much a decision as a requirement. Mentally and physically, there were no other options in my mind. I had to make sure she was safe, and I had to know everything about her.

Unlike most of my club brothers, I was largely uninterested in sex. My father had cheated on my mother repeatedly, sometimes bringing me to a girlfriend’s house and forcing me to wait in the car or on the stoop until he was finished with his visit. Then, there were the inevitable fights between my mom and his girlfriends.

The women would show up, crying and screaming, making wild claims or even scarier threats. Early in life, I had made up my mind not to give anyone that type of control over me. Most of my adolescence was spent training my body to ignore its basic needs, not to require as much to survive. It made it easier when inevitably my father tried to take something away from me. Burying those desires was one less thing he could use against me.

Physical pain, mental games…The punches and name-calling were easy to handle. Hope, desire, daydreams of something more…Those hurt much more in the long run.

As soon as Lilah had opened the door, I was lost. My first response was anger and distance, resenting her for igniting that foreign fire within me. But then, I saw her with my mom. Her genuine happiness and care for a woman she didn’t know. Curiosity piqued. I quickly tried to snuff it out, letting suspicion and doubt creep in.

She must be too good to be true. Following her would prove that and break the obsession that had been growing within me. Monday morning, I found myself outside her house, taking it as a sign of kismet when, after less than ten minutes, my blue jay came rushing toward her car.

Following her at a safe distance, it was easy to see that she was going to work, letting herself into a local cafe. I walked around the block a few times before allowing myself a true glimpse of Lilah. As I finally let myself look at her, it felt like drinking water after crossing the desert.

The mere sight of her crawled through my body like a shot of adrenaline. Hypersensitive, overalert, and focused, I couldn’t look away from the colorful fairy who haunted my dreams. She was everything I wanted and couldn’t have. I didn’t trust myself not to hurt her, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t protect her. If that meant from myself, too, so be it.

There was pain and sorrow in Lilah. When she thought no one was looking or when she was too tired to shoulder the burden, I could see the weight she carried. Since stepping out of her door, she never stopped moving. When she was done setting the cafe up, she was moving around in the back, getting the display set up and all of the condiments restocked.

Hours passed, and I just stayed where I was across the street, crouched on my bike, watching her. I was just out of sight, in a blind spot where she wouldn’t be able to see me unless she came outside. Lilah was tired and antsy, by the way she kept glancing at her watch.

She waved goodbye, her bag on her shoulder as she rushed out to her car. I should have moved, should have been concerned that she might have seen me, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave yet. I should make sure she gets home safe. Right?

Lilah barely looked around her, so focused on getting to her vehicle and back on the road. She needed to protect herself more, look around and stay alert. I would watch her back for the moment. Staying a few cars behind her, I was surprised when she started heading in the opposite direction of her house.

Almost half an hour later, I followed her old sedan into the student parking lot of the Pennsylvania College of Art & Design. The car was barely in park before Lilah was jumping out, struggling to carry several totes she had stuffed in the passenger seat. Her hair was falling into her face, and she was muttering to herself. Flustered and in a rush, she looked positively adorable.

My feet started moving without much thought as I blended into the crowd of students moving between classes. No one looked twice at me, which made sense considering most of the students had just as many, if not more, tattoos as me. Hair and piercings in all colors moved in waves, but my eyes were only on my blue jay.

She rushed into a classroom and stood near the door, and I watched as she dropped her things in front of an easel. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, her hands opening and closing against her thighs. When she was done, she pulled her shoulders back before twisting her long hair into a messy knot at the base of her neck.

The professor walked in as Lilah finished assembling her brushes and paints. Color returned to her face as she paid rapt attention to whatever the instructor was telling them. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it, like I had done all day. Nothing could pull my gaze from her, especially not when she finally looked so at peace. All the stress and manic energy from that morning were wiped away.