Page 6 of Born Chaos

“Dr. Vincent loves you very much,” Rick notes as we stand outside the door to my building.

“Yeah,” I say simply. “It was nice running into you.”

“You as well, Miss Doe.” He gives a slight nod, and I watch as he walks across the street, aiming for his building. Alone, I walk through the door of my own.

I change the second I get home. I go for that baggy hoodie and ditch the pants. It’s only nine in the morning, but I’m a nocturnal creature. What does it matter if I eat ice cream when it’s breakfast time for the rest of the world?

I’m just thinking about climbing into bed when a knock on the door pulls my gaze to it. Since I’m not expecting anyone, I half consider just ignoring it. If my life didn’t have such a bad habit of being dire every other day, I would have.

I wish I had ignored it when I pull the door open and find the grumpy face of Echo, Sebastian’s top blood dealer.

“Dr. Vincent asked me to bring you a fresh supply,” she says. Her tone is flat, monotone. She holds up an insulated bag, and when I take it, it’s at least three times heavier than I expect.

“Oh, I really didn’t need any for at least another week,” I say, surprised.

Echo just shrugs. “I’m just following orders.”

She turns to leave, but just seeing her, makes my stomach uneasy.

“Why don’t you like me?” I blurt. She stalls in the hall but doesn’t turn around. “From the very first time we met, it’s been pretty obvious you despise me. I just… I just wondered what I did to offend you.”

She turns just slightly, looking back over her shoulder at me. “It was never about you personally. I just think you’re walking through life with rose-colored glasses on.”

And without a second word, she continues down the hall, disappearing around the corner as she heads for the elevator.

Rose-colored glasses? Obviously, the woman doesn’t know a damn thing about me. I haven’t looked at anything in a rosy, warm way my entire life. Hell, Sebastian even called me out once for not liking him.

Who the hell does she think she is, making assumptions about me like that?

My mood thoroughly ruined, I walk back into the apartment and go to the fridge. Setting the cooler on the ground, I unzip it, and my brows furrow.

This is weeks and weeks’ worth of blood. I might possibly be able to survive off of this new supply for two months. Maybe a bit more if my thirst is under good control.

Why do I need so much?

Maybe Sebastian worries I’m going to get stressed and burn through it faster as we plan the wedding.

Completely annoyed at the whole world now, I stuff all the blood bags in the fridge, which is now almost completely full, grab that ice cream, and crawl into bed. In the mood for something dark and twisted, I turn on a documentary about serial killers, and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

The photographer comesto Sebastian’s penthouse on Thursday. Sebastian comes home just twenty minutes before. Whatever this yearly review thing is, I’ll be glad when it’s over. I feel like I get half as much time with him, and truly, I’m starting to miss him.

We go for contrast. Sebastian’s penthouse is completely white, from the walls, to the furniture, even the floor. So Sebastian dons a black suit, and I go with a black dress. My hair is left wavy, falling down the length of my back. Smokey make-up. It feels kind of good to get dressed up. It’s been lazy days at home or shifts dressed in green scrubs that end up covered in bodily fluids.

The second Sebastian walks out of his bedroom dressed in his suit, that familiar hunger ignites in my lower belly. I’m completely shameless as I drink him in from toe to the crown of his head.

Sebastian exudes confidence. He’s completely intimidating in his intelligence. And those rose tattoos on the backs of his hands? My mind is naughty with the thoughts of them all over my body in a few months.

“Juliet,” he purrs in that low voice that never fails to turn me on. “I feel naked with that gaze.”

“I wish you weren’t being facetious,” I growl as I grip him by the lapels of his jacket and pull him to me. In the background, the photographer starts snapping, but I hardly notice with the feel of Sebastian’s body pressed against mine.

“Six months and twenty-six days,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. His hand palms wide against my back, pulling my body into his. His lips slide down to the side of my neck, his tongue lapping out to taste me, his teeth scraping my skin.

My head lolls to the side, a smile and a sigh forming.

This. This is what I live for. This is what makes all the other hard stuff worth tromping through. Because in the end, Sebastian and I can come to this perfect place where we perfectly align.

“Now those are the ones you keep for yourselves after you’ve been married a few years,” the photographer, Rachel, says.

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