Page 1 of Make Me A Sinner
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-Serena-
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I could go on until dawn. It wouldn't have been the first time I’d done it, and something tells me it won't be the last.
I've been counting stars for a while now, trying to clear my mind or, more likely, trying to chase away my memories.
But it's not the stars that truly make me look up at the night sky. It's the golden moon.
The same moon that I wear around my neck.
The same moon that seems to burn into my skin with every breath I take.
The same moon I can’t seem to let go of.
It’s been three months since I left Vegas and regained my freedom. And as an irony of fate, now, I feel more trapped than ever before.
I’ve felt this way ever since I stepped foot on the plane that took me from California, and I’ve been lying to myself ever since, telling myself this is just my mind playing tricks on me and that things would eventually get back to normal. But I don’t even know what "normal" means anymore, and I’m starting to worry the word might be ruined for me completely.
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I never stop counting. It's the only thing that helps me keep everything else away. It's what helps me keep Set away, because when I count the stars, it's the only time I don't think of him. Funny, since I left the stars he gave me back in California. I had to pawn the earrings that came with the necklace to buy the plane ticket to Italy. Beautiful Italy. Where I’ve been since I ran away from him.
I had always dreamed of getting one of those stone houses here with an orchard and no neighbors for miles. That, and being close enough to Milan, since no type of exorcism could ever take the fashionista out of me. Not that I’ve made it there in the past few months since I’ve been here.
At least, I have the house. Well, it's not mine, but it’s very close to everything I ever wished for. The only problem is that I don't seem to want it anymore.
I came to Italy only two days after I left Vegas. I wanted to get away—as far away as possible; at least for a while, until things settled down.
This was the first place that came to mind. At first worked in a bar for a week or so, but quickly realized I don't think I like people anymore. Or at least I don't trust them. It makes nearly any kind of interaction feel like a burden. And since the place was crawling with tourists, it was almost impossible for me to stay there.
That's how I found my current job. I wouldn't even be sure it's a job if it weren't for the monthly paycheck. I only see it as free room and board, since I get to live in a mansion and do nothing all day except take care of the place and keep an eye on things around here. That basically means supervising the cleaning lady and the gardener who come by once a week for maintenance. The owners are some rich Germans who almost never come to stay here. I only saw them during my first week here, right after I got hired. According to the cleaning lady, I wasn’t likely to see them again for a couple of years. Not that I planned on staying that long. This was more like a much-needed break than an actual dream job. I just wish I could take a break from myself for a while.
Lately, I seem to be my own worst enemy, since my mind is constantly at war with my heart. I know I made the right decision by leaving, but I also know that I might have made the biggest mistake of my life. The what-ifs will haunt me forever. And so will the man who changed my entire existence in less than a month.
It feels so typical of me to turn what could’ve been a perfect life into my own personal hell. There's no worse place to be than the prison of your own mind. Which I sometimes believe I’ll never escape from.
I follow a set of nearly ancient stone stairs down into the wine cellar to grab a glass of red wine. It's not exactly in my job description to be a sommelier, but I do like a trip down here from time to time just to check that the barrels and bottles don't spoil.
And since this is a proper countryside Italian villa, the supply’s enough to satisfy an entire village.
I’m just reaching for a bottle when I hear a loud clang behind me. A cold chill races down my spine, and I hold my breath, waiting for some demon to step out of the shadows. I scan theroom for almost a minute, trying to decide if my imagination is playing tricks on me or if I’m actually about to be dragged to the depths of hell. I nearly give up on the wine and bolt when I hear a purr, then a long, familiar meow—and a dark feline silhouette emerges from behind a few barrels—Mr. Cat. I found him in the yard on the day I got here, and from the looks of him, he’d only been surviving on mice for a while. He quickly upgraded from that to tuna. But what he loves most is stealing my food, and to be honest, I don’t mind sharing. I actually love having him around, it keeps me a little closer to normality—if talking to a cat can even count as normal. But I feel like we’re in this mess together—in thatfate’s mocking uskind of way. Him, because his all-black fur’s tainted by a white spot straight on his balls, and me because fate basically kicked me straight in the balls—metaphorically speaking.
Scooping him up, I grab the bottle of wine, promising myself it will be just a glass, and head out of the cellar.
Okay, maybe it wasn't just one glass. I might’ve broken a record since I woke up in the morning with Mr. Cat on my lap, my head pounding, and black streaks of mascara running down my face.
Fuck. I've been crying again. I hope it wasn't because of Set—even if, deep down, I know it was.
