Ezra and Ella

Chapter IX: On the paper

Joe s’ POV

*

All it takes is one quick movement, one blow on the temple with the proper pressure.

And how to put the right pressure is not something I could forget so easily, not even if it has been more than two years since the last time I have done that.

Will’s guy falls on the floor, unconscious.
I stare a bit concerned at the corner of the first edition of ‘Crime and Punishment’ that now is stained with some blood.
I shrug.
It’s nothing that can’t be fixed once I’ll have a lab for books again, along with all the tools I need.

Now it’s time to think about the passed out guy.
I drag him by the feet outside, in the woods.

As always, there’s no one around, I can act undisturbed.

As I keep dragging him, I realise the guy is stirring, about to wake up.
Probably I wasn't so flawless about the pressure.
And he’s not even gagged.
This guy could scream anytime, risking to draw too much attention.
No matter if we’re in the middle of nowhere; someone could hear him.

This is a big problem, but I’ve trained myself to fix problems the way I can fix books.

I take his head with both hands and smash it against a tree trunk, multiple times; the rough bark proving to be more efficient than any blade or mallet.
I pant heavily, I stare at the splinters I got in my fingers, as the guy lies on the ground, without a heartbeat anymore.

And without defined features on his face anymore, as well.

There’s a puddle of blood on the ground, getting larger and larger, it soaked my shoes, too.

I take them off, hold them in my hands and run back to the house to wash my shoes and the door-step clean, as I wish that the wolves and every other kind of wild animal around will feast tonight.
That should fix the hiding body-issue, too.

*

I tear the sheet of paper out of Janine and I crumple it in frustration, throwing it on the bin under the desk.

Geez, this shit is way too violent, splatter and gory even for my standards!

Plus, who can guarantee me that there’s wolves around here?
It’s just too inaccurate, leaves too many plotholes, I can do much better than this.

There’s that abandoned warehouse that could provide the perfect place to keep a hostage, as I decide what to do with him.
Find something to blackmail him with, threaten him, persuade him to take my side… decide that killing him is the only possible solution.
Oh god, I miss my cage!

And I miss someone to lock inside it, since said hostage is only on the paper.

The real one is not even a hostage, he has never been, I let him go, more than half an hour ago.
And yet I didn’t hear any police sirens coming from afar.
I guess it’s a good sign.

I’m about to type a new sheet of events and choices to make, but something prevents me from doing that.
My phone that’s ringing.
And given that it can’t be you, Bronte, that only leaves one other possibility.

“Hi, Will.” I pick the call at the fourth ring, without even looking at the display.

“Hi brother, I guess the delivery has already happened by this time.”

“Yeah. Your man came to me and gave me everything. Thanks again.”

Silence from the other side, the same silence of someone who’s pondering before saying something.

Was my answer way too vague, maybe?

“So… is everything fine? Did everything go well… without any uhm.. complications?” He teeters.

I chuckle.

“Tell me, Will, by ‘complications’ do you mean ‘increased body count’?”

“Uh? N.. nope, I just was wondering… if.. if…” He stutters, growing nervous.

How well he knows me.
And how well I know him.

“Relax, Will. Your man is safe and sound, you should hear from him in a while.”

I can hear Will sigh with relief from here.

“I knew everything would go well. And maybe you didn't notice he was…”

“One of the fake guards in the van? Of course I noticed. And I would lie if I didn’t tell you I was so tempted to do something about it.” I groan in frustration, passing a hand on my head, but my hair is still too short to be tortured properly.

“So glad you didn't do anything. I knew he would make you nervous, but he was the only available man to send and I gave you my word, he’s very trustworthy!” He swears.

“Yeah, I chose to trust him. Only because I trust you, brother.”

“Now just think about celebrating Bronte’s birthday. And when the time is right you both will need the passports I made for you. I always got you, brother.” He hangs up.

I go back to my writing and to the hostage on the paper. His days are numbered.

 

Bronte’s POV

I guess I’ve never driven faster in my whole life.
And I’ve never been so eager and at the same time so afraid to come back home.
As West Pittston gets closer and closer, I glance at my purchase on the seat.
You’re going to like them so much!
Sure, if I still find you at home.
It’s not that I don’t trust you but…
Okay. Maybe I don’t fully trust you… yet.
Can you really blame me for that, Joe?

Finally I park the car.
Uhmm, no traces of blood on the ground.
That’s a very good sign.
Not as good as when I open the door and you’re standing there, smiling at me.

“Hi, honey, I’m home!” I run towards you who welcome me in your arms.

Before I can acknowledge it I’m already kissing you.

Dammit, it just feels so natural not to.

I begin to hate the stupid rebuild trust rule!

“Uh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” I sheepishly apologize, as I part from you.

“It’s definitely not something to feel sorry about!” You smirk satisfied.

“I guess I’m just happy to be back and that everything at the meeting went fine.”

And that it seems that you behaved, but I can’t say this last thing out loud.

“Please, Bronte, be this happy more often!” You smirk again in that dangerous way.

“Well, I’m glad for your meeting. So I assume they’ll let you write under your nom de plume.”

“Of course they do, I’ve managed to convince everyone. So bye bye promotion for my next book, I’ll be all yours!” I cheer, maybe with too much excitement.

Again that dangerous smirk.

“Oh, I’ll enjoy so much having you all for me. So, tell me, which is the name you picked?”

“Ghen Cardie. Ghen is a more sophisticated version of Gwen.”

“Nice, but I don’t get why you should want to hide under just that made up name. What’s the connection?”

That’s the thing, Joe.

“Try to keep repeating it, out loud.” I instruct you and you agree.

“Ghen Cardie. Ghen Cardie. Ghen Cardie. Ghen Cardie. Ghen… Oh. Wait a minute. Cardie Ghen. Cardigan.” You chuckle.

“You got there!” I grin. “And at the StoneFire no one has ever seen me wearing a cardigan. Indeed, they don’t get it, they just agreed. But you did.”

“I guess I love you even more now, if possible.” You wink at me in a way that makes my heart skip some beats.

“Huh! I almost forgot… Be right back.” I rush outside, heading to the car.

Also to prevent myself from kissing you for the third long time in a single day.
I open the car, take the books I have left on the seat and go back inside the house.

“Here are more reasons why you should love me more.” I joke around as I hand to you all the first editions I managed to find in that bookstore.

You stare almost touched at them.

“‘Paradise Lost’ , ‘Hours of idleness’... oh and this is an original Italian Pirandello!”

“Well, I guess it’s something that would make part of your roots happy. Plus you have so much free time, what about try and learn a new language?” I wink at you.

“That’s a good idea.” You nod. “I can’t believe it. We’re getting closer and closer to your birthday… and I’m the one getting gifts.”

“Oh c’mon, I don’t expect anything from you! Maybe.. Well, yes, just make a cake for me!” I suggest.

“Oh, but that was already on my plans. I’ll tell you what, I’m going to spend half day tomorrow locked in the kitchen, preventing you from reaching it in any way.” You declare.

“Oh. In any way. Really?” I challenge you.

“Yeah, even if I had to handcuff you to a bed. Again.”

Is it me or is it getting hotter here?

“I’ll also think about the dinner tonight, but the difference is that you’re allowed to reach the kitchen whenever you want.” You smirk.

“Oh that’s very indulgent of you. So what’s on the menu, Chef?”

“I was thinking about grilled steaks and roasted potatoes.” You decide, taking off your baby blue jacket to move better in the kitchen.

“Yummy! I’m already drooling.” I confess.

If I have to be honest, I don’t even know if I’m referring to the roasted potatoes or the biceps I can see thanks to the white tanktop you’re wearing.
They seem even bigger than I recall.
Did you train in jail, Joe?

“Awesome! So I guess I’ll take advantage of that to have a shower.” I inform you, heading to the bathroom.

Yeah, a very cold one.

I get rid of all of my clothes and walk inside the shower.
The water starts running all over my body, but not as fast as the flood of my thoughts.

What’s wrong with me today? Why the more I kiss you, the more do I want… more?
And of course I can’t have everything. Not anymore.

But.. I mean, there were also other parts of your body inside me and I loved the feeling so damn much.
Smearing the showergel, my hand is sliding between my thighs.
One finger gently starts poking my core, followed by a second one.
And in my mind it’s you and only you doing that.
And it could happen for real, if only I hadn’t chosen to take things so obnoxiously slow.
Because mutual trust takes time. And we have plenty of time, Joe.
And I have a way to keep my horny urges at bay.
As I keep giving myself pleasure, I keep telling myself that it’s not that in just one morning you might have installed some hidden cameras all over the house, and in the bathroom, too, is it?
Well, in the not fully lucid state I’m right now, I would find it even exciting.
Once I’m done both with the shower and my hormonal crisis, I dry myself in a towel and wear something comfy for the night.
Well, I had already set my stuff, but then my eyes fall on something much more tempting.
But comfy, as well.

When I reach you, you are already cooking, marinating the meat, and you ask me to go to the living room and relax.
Guess I could use a little nap after all the driving.
The moment my head touches the armrest of the sofa, my eyelids close faster than I could guess.
I wake up, probably one hour later, thanks to the delicious smell of roasted potatoes coming from the kitchen.

Hearing my footsteps, you turn to me.

“Oh, hello, you.” You smile. “I went to check on you before, but you looked so peaceful it would have been a crime to wake you up.”

“I guess that’s what I needed. Now I feel regenerated.” I smile, as I take a seat by the table.

During the exquisite dinner I tell you about my day and we go on as I wash the dishes.
I wonder if I should ask about your day too, but since you’re trapped here, at least for now, I don’t think you had so many eventful moments.

We sit on the sofa, but instead of watching TV, you feel like talking again.

“Tell me more about your  book; tell me something even your editors don’t know yet!”

“Sounds fair, after all they discovered my nom de plume before you.” I agree. “So, they begin to work together at the newspaper and Brigitte observes every of Jim’s moves, reporting everything to her friend Gabrielle. And that’s the thing. Actually Jim is behaving really well, with no sign of obsessive compulsive behaviour, but Lottie starts to tell Gabrielle stuff that’s not true, in order to make him look bad.”

“Oh.poor Jim, he’s even behaving so good! This Lottie/Brigitte is such a bitch!” You hiss.

“Wait before judging her. Okay, she’s not playing flair for sure, but do you wanna know why she’s doing that?”

And, of course, you nod.

“Because after spending so much time with him, getting to know him better, Lottie has fallen in ove with him; so she wants Gabrielle out of the picture.”

“Woah! Who's obsessive compulsive now?” You chuckle. “Then, what happens?”

“Nothing else, because I already spoilered the equivalent of five or six chapters… That’s all you get to know, for now.” I get up, yawning. “Hope you don’t mind, Joe, but I guess the short nap I took before wasn’t enough. I need some proper rest.”

You  prove to be very sweet and understanding, kissing my forehead.

“Of course you do. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

I walk towards the bedroom, but I’m not sleepy at all; quite the contrary, I'm even too awake.

So awake that when you kissed my forehead I was this close to jump your bones.
I have to do something about this sexual withdrawal.

I have to give vent to it on paper.
Well, the virtual paper of my laptop.

I guess I won’t give a damn to the order of the chapters and write the smutty one right now.

Because at least on the paper, we don’t have to refrain, Joe.
On the paper there’s no trust rebuild rules.
On the paper there’s…err… no missing part of yours.
On the paper everything between us is a lot easier.

--------------------------------------------------

Joe’s POV

We’re having breakfast together and in the meantime I’m preparing the dough for the sponge cake.
You’re allowed to see this.

“It’s such a beautiful day, you should take advantage of that to go out doing some shopping, getting you a nice dress for your incoming birthday; not that you don’t look lovely inside my blue shirt.” I wink at you as I vigorously mix all the ingredients inside a bowl

You blush, speaking of lovely.

“Oh. It’s just that I saw it yesterday, after the shower and it looked so comfy.” You shrug, pretending nonchalance and failing miserably.

I know you crave my skin against yours, so you’ll get content with my shirt, for now.
Until you don’t give up on the stupid rebuild trust rule, I won’t make the first move.

“However Joe, is it a nice way to tell me you don’t want me around this morning?”

“It depends on how nosey-parker you feel about what I’m doing,” I reply, pouring the dough on a baking pan and inserting it in the oven. “So far, it’s nothing too revealing, but once the sponge cake is ready I want you out of the kitchen.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll take a walk outside, looking for something nice to wear tomorrow. For me and for you too. And maybe a couple more shirts to steal from you!” You giggle.
 

Once you leave the house, I arrange the butter cream and the pastry bag I’ll need later.
As I wait for the sponge cake to be ready, I go into the living room, enjoying one of your latest gifts.
I choose Byron, as I glance at the title of the Italian book.
‘Sei personaggi in cerca di autore’ AKA ‘Six characters in search of an author’
Imaginary people speaking to someone.
Definitely the perfect gift for someone who suffered from dissociation and identity disorder.

I really have to talk with you about London, maybe I’ll do, right after your birthday.
 

Lord Byron keeps me company with three or four poems, before the timer of the oven rings.
The sponge cake is rectangular and has risen perfectly but that was the easiest part.
Thank you, R.I.P. Love, at least you taught me something good, deep inside.
Now it’s time to make it seem like an open book.
I watched hundreds of tutorials about it and it seemed much simpler.

I have cut the edges of the cake to make it seem like the cover of the book.
More like the cover of a book after a rat chewed through it.
It’s time to smear it with the butter cream.
It was supposed to be bright white… instead it’s turning into a creamy yellow.
Fuck, maybe the cake was still to hot to absorbe the butter cream properly.
Oh well, it means that it’ll be an ancient book, rather than a brand new one.

The initial idea was to write ‘Happy Birthday, Bronte’ in an elegant italic with lots of hearts all around… but after testing how fucking clumsy I am with the pastry bag, all I manage is to put some crooked lines, like the unidentified text of a book.
At least I manage to make very pretty decorated frames with slices of strawberries, cherries and some raspberries.
The finishing touch, a red licorice twist that symbolizes the bound bookmark.

Sure, the dinosaur cake I made for Henry years ago was a lot easier, but somehow I’m satisfied by my job of this time, too.

Once my creation rested enough to be put in the fridge, I put it in a cake box; so in case you open the fridge you won’t ever guess the shape.

“I’m back!” You thrill, about twenty minutes later. “If there’s something I’m not supposed to see, please, blindfold me!”
 

Fuck, Bronte, don’t awaken such sexy memories…

I leave the kitchen to meet you.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m done with the secret phase, now you’re free to wander anywhere.” I smile, helping you with the shopping bags you’re carrying.

“Well, it’s time for my secret phase, because this is my dress and you’re not supposed to see it until tomorrow!” You snatch one of the bags from my hand. “I’ll let you check later the outfit I bought for you, plus the shirts, but this is something I have to show you immediately!”

You grin proudly, taking something folded from one of the bags.

When you unfurl it I stare at a black apron with a white skull, with a crossed grill spatula and a meat fork instead of the classic bones and a writing that makes me chuckle.

“‘Serial Griller?’ Seriously, Bronte?”

“Oh, c’mon, it fits you to a T!” You laugh as you make me wear it.  “And I expect you to wear it every time you cook for me.”

I will.

------------------------------------------------- 

The rest of the day passes so fast then when it’s finally midnight I can’t hold on anymore.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” I whisper in your ear.
 

“Thank you, honey.” You caress my face.

I just have to push my luck.

“Do you think that a birthday kiss would be inappropriate?”

“Probably it would…” You answer, before pulling me by the T-shirt. “But I don’t give a damn!”

I smile, placing my lips on yours, softly at first, then it turns so mutually demanding that we both end up lying down on the sofa, me beneath you.

We’re both panting and you must feel it for sure how much I’m liking it.

“Huh! Well, if this is the gift, I appreciate it a lot.” You sheepishly smile, parting from me.

“Well, actually I have a … huh, tangible gift too.. “ I get up to take it.

You look so surprised when I hand the golden package to you.

“Just how?” You ask me as you unwrap it.

“I have my secrets… and also a loyal friend who always helps me.”I wink at you.

“Will. Of course.” You nod, finally discovering the gift.

“Looks like I won’t be the only one dealing with a foreign language.” I smile as you stare in awe at a very rare first edition of ‘A la Recherche du Temps Perduu’.

“Oh Joe, it’s awesome!” You hug me, as happy as a child. “Actually, I’ve studied French at school, but this is the perfect occasion to train it a little more. Anyway, is this a very pleasant way to tell me that once we fix everything here, our new life will be in France?”

“Huh? Nope, it’s just a coincidence. I still have to think where our new life will take place, with your approval, of course; but I haven’t a good memory of France and I'd prefer to avoid it.”

I mean, who the hell would like to go back to that place where they’ve been literally a Mr. Nobody for months?

“We still have time to decide.” You shrug. “Just.. When did it happen? I knew that Will had to send the passports, but I didn’t see anyone coming in these weeks.”

“Well, think about the only day you have been away for hours.”

“Oh. Yesterday. Sure. So… There was a delivery guy here with you, all alone. Is this guy still alive?” You chuckle nervously.

I know you’re only half joking. And I’m going to do the same.
 

“Surprisingly, I know, but he’s still very much alive!”

You get up to throw the gift wrapping paper away.
You take a while to come back and I start to wonder why, so much that I follow you in your bedroom, but I figure everything out when I see your bewildered  face and the sheet of paper you’re holding, a piece of paper I had crumpled and thrown away.

Shit.

“Oh my God, Joe.”

“It’s not as it seems…” I try to justify.

“Oh no, Joe, it’s exactly as it seems!” You hiss. “This poor guy came here for the delivery, you felt all these homicidal urges… even more truculent than I recalled…”

You start rambling and I dread the worst.

“And you took it out just and only here, on the paper.” You add, with a much calmer town.

“Wait, Bronte, are you saying that… “

“Yeah. I mean, it creeps the hell out of me, sure; but… I’m proud of you. It's a hundred times better if something so bloodcurling happened just here, on the paper, than outside there, in the woods.”

Oh, Bronte. This is music to my ears.
Kate rejected me as if I was the most repugnant being on this Earth when she found my writings.
Instead you can see beyond it. You understand my reasons.
This is the umpteenth proof that you really accept me.

I smile at you, as I take a step closer.

“Does it help if I tell you that the gory version scared even me so much that I had to write another one, more mitigated?”

“Not really, but thank you.” You scoff.

“And does it help if I tell you that that delivery guy was one of the fake guards in the van with me?”

You jolt and your eyes open wider, so I know I pushed the right button.

“Oh. Someone who knew everything. And yet you trusted him and let him go.” You babble, very impressed.

“Yeah, I would lie if I didn’t admit that it wasn’t such an easy thing to do, I struggled against my inner demons and…”

“And you won.” You end the sentence for me, holding my hand tight. “I believe that you can win over your darkest instincts, if you try really hard.”

“I can, if you keep believing in me.” I murmur.

“I’ll do.” You promise, before we both decide it’s better to go to sleep.

As I head towards the sofa, I can’t help thinking how even more meaningful is the other gift I still have to give to you.

Can’t wait for you to see it tomorrow.

--------------------------------------- 

Bronte’s POV

I’ve spent the night rather serenely, if I don’t consider all the nightmares about what I’ve read.
But then I see you in the kitchen, welcoming me with a rich breakfast and the sweetest smile ever and it’s so easy to delete those bad memories.

Plus, I chose to believe in you and I mean it.

“Hello, birthday girl!” You kiss my cheek and we start eating.

We spent a quiet morning, but I have to insist for you to just let me go and buy a takeaway pizza.
You already cooked way too much for me and I want you free to spend your time with me.

And after lunch, it’s time for the cake you made for me.

You open the box and… why that face?

“Oh no! I swear it was a perfect decoration before, tracing all the edges… maybe I moved it too much when I took it from the fridge!” You apologize, trying to fix it.

“There’s no need to do that. I mean, decorations on book pages are so ordinary, who doesn’t love a messier one?” I wink at you.

You seem to glow.

“Ohh, so you figured it out it’s a book!”

“Of course I did.”

I mean, the butter cream is not spread uniformly but there’s some empty spaces here and there. The ‘pages’ look more wrinkled than they were supposed to, also the lines of their edges are not very visible; but of course it’s a book.
And I really appreciate all the effort.

“And guess what? Red licorice is one of my favorite things!” I confess, taking a bite from the bound bookmark. “Plus, I bet the cake will be very tasty!”

“Well, it’s a chocolate cake with Morello cherries jam and fresh summer fruit as a topping… I really hope it will taste good.” You mutter as you cut the slice.

And of course, I was right.
As i enjoy it and I look at you I wonder if you maybe put inside also something aphrodisiac in the dough.
But, nope, I already know it’s not because of the cake.

As in the afternoon I’ve started reading my gift, you come to me holding an envelope.

“Well, this is not a gift, of course, but since they arrived, I guessed you might be curious to take a look at our passports.”

I open mine.

“Oh. Looks like we had the same idea: I’m blonde!”

“Yeah, just like you asked for my hair to be bleached, apparently.”

“Hurry up to let your hair grow a little more; can’t wait to have fun with it!”

“Let’s not think about each other’s hair for a moment: did you notice the name?”

“Awww. Ella Goldery.” I beam.

I already love it.

“Do you remember the pairing game you had suggested? There was a basic error: our first name might not sound very good mixed together, but our surnames are just perfect.” You smile, showing me your passport.

“I agree, Mr. Ezra Flanberg!” I giggle, giving you a peck on your lips.

“Although my fake surname makes me think more of a dessert. Yes, I guess well have two Flanbergs, thanks you, waiter!” You make me laugh.

Before I can acknowledge it, my arms are already wrapping your neck.

“And, tell me, how does our dessert taste?”

You don’t need any further invitation.

“As sweet as possible.” You smile against my lips, before kissing me deeply.

----------------------------------------- 

It’s dinner time and although not only we’re not going out, for obvious reasons, but we don’t even feel hungry after all the pizza we ate before; we get ready for the night.

You look so good in the creamy white suit I bought for you and you seem to like a lot my 50s white minidress with big coloured pailettes.

“You look amazing.” You murmur.
 

“So do you.” I smile.

“I promise that on your next birthday I’m going to take you to a nicer place…” you sigh.

I caress your face.

“Trust me. I’m exactly where I want to be. With you. It’s all that counts.”

“Well, I guess we could watch a movie, as we eat a bit more cake?” You suggest, as you already start the zapping on the TV.

“The perfect plan!” I grin, going to take the cake.
 

“Look what I’ve found, it seems a sign of destiny.” You point at the screen, as I bring the two plates. “And it’s just started.”

I smile when I recognize it.

‘Wuthering Heights’. The 1992 movie.

The version I love the most.

My fave movie ever. One of the best cakes I’ever tasted. And you.

My birthday couldn’t get any better.

When the movie ends you draw something from the pocket of your jacket.
It’s a rolled paper, almost like a parchment.

“10th July is not over yet, so there’s still one gift from me. I know I said I should write the story of Ezra and Ella all over again, and I still plan to do that. But first I’ve decided to focus on its sequel and this is the Prologue.” You explain, handing the sheet to me.

“Oooh thanks. I missed Ezra’s adventures so much. Can’t wait to read it.” I grin, undoing the silky knot.

“And I’ll take a walk outside as you do. Enjoy.” You kiss my temple and leave.

‘Cold. Inhospitable. Estranged.
These were the first feelings when Ezra opened his eyes.
Eyes he thought he’d never hoped again.
He was dead,
Well, the way someone who’s already dead can die.
Ezra was a vampire.

And the cause of his second death was a woman.
A young, beautiful, generous and smart woman.
Ella.
The woman who had broken his heart.
Not with a stake. With a betrayal.
Everything had happened that night he had taken his decision: he would have turned her into a vampire, like him.
And she seemed so thrilled about it. At least that was Ezra thought.
Instead, it was a trap.
At the place they had agreed to meet he didn’t find her but an angry mod, equipped with fire, axes and especially stakes.
They had chopped his body, dusted his heart and locked it all inside a secret, unknown place.
The same place when he had just awoken. Whole. Alive. Or rather undead again.
He still ignored where he was, but he had a certainty.
A drop of blood had brought him back to this world.
Not any blood.
Ella’s blood.
Ezra had no idea of how many trials Ella had faced to reach that place and rescue him, letting a drop of her blood fall through the stones of that place and reach him.
But she had done that.
The cause of his destruction was also the one of his rebirth.
How ironic.
But now he still had a purpose in his existence. He had never felt so strong.
That’s why he got up and started punching and killing that oppressing prison of bricks, walls, stones and probably some sort of ancient runes too.
And that place crumbled down in a deafening roar.
Ezra was free again.
And he wasn't alone.
“So, it worked for real!” Said a voice he was afraid he wouldn’t hear anymore.

“Ella!” Ezra turned into her direction.
Her hair, a little longer. Her big eyes, even brighter than he recalled, sparkling with joy. Her smile, almost blinding.
Her beauty, so mesmerizing.
Seeing her again, hearing her again, being aware of what she had done for him.
This was what made Ezra feel powerful and invincible.

She ran into him, cupping his cold face and kissing him, warming up his heart that had no heartbeat, but could still feel so many emotions.
Ella was so vulnerable in that moment that he could have bitten her, sucking all her blood and making her taste his, binding her to him for eternity.
It would have been so easy.
But Ezra had learned from his mistakes.
Now he knew that Ella was a precious and delicate flower; he wouldn’t have tried to eradicate her from her ground anymore, he would have cared for that flower with that same love she had taught to him.

Destiny, or maybe love, had given him a second chance and Ezra wouldn’t have been so dumb to waste it.
He would have tried hard for her, he would have done whatever it took to become a person worthy of her love.
Because she didn’t look at him as if he was a monster, she made him feel like a person.
A better person.’

Wiping some tears that are streaming down my cheeks, I rush outside.

There you are, not far away.

“Joe!” I run into you, hugging you tight.

You chuckle.

“I dare to guess you liked my Prologue.”

“I liked it so much that I’m ready to set the bar of our rebuilding trust a little higher.” I reply as I drag you back home with me.

“How much higher?” You stare at me, intrigued.

“Sleep with me, tonight.”

TBC