Enigma

by RuNyx

Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. —Donna Tartt, The Secret History

Death was a curious thing. Planned or unplanned, mitigated or unmitigated, cruel or comfortable, it was the only universal truth that everyone lied about. Most adults she’d encountered spent their lives not thinking about it, trying to outrun it yet heading straight to it. She didn’t know if they realized what she had at such a young age—death was inevitable. It chased everyone from the moment of the first drawn breath and caught them at their last.

She had looked like a goddess, a mystical creature hovering over the dead, come to life from the sea behind her. And in that one instant, she had become his muse.

He had asked her to stay away and she had deliberately not. She’d thrown the gauntlet, and fuck him if he didn’t pick it up.

Caz van der Waal was an enigma, an unknown variable in her equation, an unsolved mystery, and she had always loved and hated those in equal measure.

“Try it. Try walking off a cliff, I will block you. Try making yourself bait, I will catch you. And try being with another man, I will use his blood and make you the canvas.”

She, Salem Salazar, cold, frigid bitch, was about to cry and mewl in the hands of a man. Who would’ve ever thought?

“You could bring gods to their knees, you know that?” he murmured softly, his hands tightening on her hips, before drifting to the corners of her eyes, tracing them like he did. “Just one glance from these eyes would have driven men to murder in old times. Still might.” Salem tilted her head to the side. “Would it drive you to murder?” He pulled her closer. “Oh, little asp. It would drive me beyond.” “What is beyond murder?” “Damnation.”

“Because I was a man on the path to damnation and I saw salvation instead. Because being near you makes me feel something beyond rage. Because the chaos inside me quietens when I’m near you.” His words were shaking by the end of his sentence, his hands holding her possessively. “You’ve become my muse, little asp.”

It was her group chat with the girls, a first for her, which Melissa had titled NDA: No Daddies Allowed (Only Issues). Hilarious.

“We’re all a little mad here.” “Do not.” She grabbed the blanket, covering herself with it. “Do not quote the Mad Hatter to me right now.”

“I want to be the only villain you see. I want to be the only devil who drags you to hell.”

“Because life with you feels greater than death. Because you make the artist in me burn with the need to create, make the man in me burn with the need to possess, make the killer in me burn with the need to protect. You make me want to live, Salem. You give me a modicum of peace in a world of chaos. Is that reason enough?”

Until she’d seen all the eleven and understood what the note on his file from his supervisor had meant. His art was unconventional, disturbing, and provocative. It was meant to be that way, and it gave her a glimpse at who he was inside—someone who understood darkness, understood death, understood the disturbing and delirious nature of them. Just like she did.

“You ask me if I’m crazy, and I am. I’m crazy about you and I’m crazy for you. Seeing you that close to another guy? You’re lucky I didn’t fuck you right there in his blood.”