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Flight to Yorknew from your place of living couldn’t be any longer, and even more exhausting. Hours of being stuck in a tiny, cheap seat, suffering from time zone change-you were extremely glad to finally land.
A taxi previously ordered by your aunt, who you notified of your arrival, was graciously waiting for you to sit down your tired body and be driven to her apartment.
You were dozing off during the ride, no matter how much you wanted to observe the outside of the horrendously big city you’ve never been in, filled with horrendously tall buildings, as if wanting to touch God himself.
You were shaken off your sleep, when your cab abruptly stopped in front of your appointed building, the driver almost hitting a nearest trashcan. You would have questioned whether he has a driving license up to date, but you were way too tired, trying to force yourself to see it as a charm of the city.
The driver was kind enough (or rather, paid enough by your aunt), to drag your suitcases inside the building and into the elevator, before leaving you inside alone for you to go up to the fourth floor.
When you reached your aunt’s floor, she was there to greet you, standing happily in the hall, outside her big door.
“Dear!” she gave you a big hug, when you were still struggling with your suitcases, almost making you drop them. You haven’t seen your aunt often, living away from her. You rather envied her, as she separated herself from your family that was more or less toxic; not to mention her money. „Come, come inside!” she helped you carry your suitcases inside.
“It’s good to you too, auntie,” you said with a smile.
This middle aged woman then showed you your guest bedroom, where you’d be staying for the next few weeks. For Yorknew standards…god, it was bigger than your apartment back home. Your aunt was really doing well. You couldn’t relate, having to live from job to job, even with your degree, stuck in some questionable IT offices, or having to beg your landlord to fix your dripping tap.
You were attacked with many questions from your aunt, asking you how you were doing, if you had anyone (not so innocently saying how bad nowadays men were, telling you to focus on yourself.)
Cynthia was a rather enthusiastic woman, making you feel home quickly. Or maybe it was the most comfortable bed you had ever slept on.
☆
You spent your next few days doing whatever really. There was so much to explore in a city as big as Yorknew, and even more to watch out for. You had to make sure you don’t overdo your money spending, despite your aunt giving you an allowance and making you feel as if you were a little girl again (and broke). You had to be wary of your surroundings too.
When coming back to her apartment with a bag of a new vinyl record and a tourist T-shirt you definitely didn’t need, you were surprised to hear a male voice inside her apartment. You couldn’t see its owner yet, it being a male figure definitely, however you already could tell its uniqueness. Smooth, low but not forcibly, calm, perhaps a bit uplifting. You didn’t remember your aunt mentioning anything about any male visitors, so you felt on your guard a little.
Two voices, of your aunt and said man died for a moment, before Cynthia spotted you from the kitchen level, her voice booming again. “Ah, you’re back. Come here, let me introduce you to my friend!”
You hesitantly set your purchase away in the hall, not so eager to meet a stranger, and approached kitchen. Then you saw him. Your aunt called him her friend, but he seemed to be twice younger than her…maybe she just wanted to feel younger herself? You just hoped he’s not her lover or any of such dreadful assumptions.
But what struck you most were man’s looks. Dark hair, big and soft grey eyes, perky nose—all perfectly groomed, making up to be a handsome man, around your age. He was dressed fashionably, but in a way that seemed as if he didn’t put too much effort. As if he was just perfect in his own being.
Those eyes of his, they took in your figure, giving you a curious and kind look.
“Oh…hello,” you said politely, despite small awkwardness you felt. What bothered you was how hard it was to actually read this man. He was supposedly sweet looking, but it didn’t feel as enough conclusion to say that’s who he truly was. “Who is that, Auntie?”
“This is Eric. He works in a local museum. You see, I’ve been eyeing a certain painting…and Eric has been trying to help me find it! Isn’t that nice of him?” You immediately knew Eric must be…someone, if he was a man Cynthia spoke positively about. “Eric, please meet my niece. She came to Yorknew to visit me, and for a little holiday.”
Said Eric smiled at you, like a proper gentleman, and offered you his big palm to shake. “It is a pleasure to meet Cynthia’s niece. I hope you’ve been enjoying your state in the city,” he said pleasantly, and trailed off, as if expecting your testimony.
“It’s nice to meet you too, Eric.” You shook his hand, feeling his grip to be perfect too. No trembling, just a steady hand. “Yes…the city is keeping me busy. I guess, I’ll barely scratch the surface during my stay here,” you said with self-deprecation, making him chuckle.
“Only more reason to come back again.” For a moment, he was silent, observing you. To your luck, it wasn’t a devouring look some men would give you. No, Eric was curious. He was evaluating you, making you feel somewhat vulnerable as a result. But when you looked at your aunt, all you saw was her grin. Were you just sensitive? You found Eric to be little odd too-you wondered why he was covering his forehead with a band.
Your aunt finally interrupted. “You two look like you’d make good friends! Though, I’ll have to steal our Eric for a second, my dear. We are getting so close to finding that painting!” she exclaimed excitedly, before dragging dark haired man to her office, leaving you a chance to go rest after your daily sightseeing. As she did, she turned around to give you a wink.
Was she trying to set you up with Eric? You were glad she wasn’t having a romance with a much younger man, but at the same time, you didn’t want one with him either—you were hear to enjoy yourself, not have to cry about being separated from your new obsession, when having to leave.
☆
It was a few days since you saw Eric, until he visited your aunt at her spacious apartment again. To your dislike, it was quite soon after you just woke up, strolling into the kitchen in a fluffy bathrobe, not aware he’s there, sipping on his tea with Cynthia. You stopped in tracks, realizing your visitor’s presence.
“Don’t stand there like a statue, dear. Sit down with us,” your aunt encouraged, pointing her hand at breakfast set on the table. But how could you? You were a mess, unwashed, un-brushed, un-groomed. And here was sitting a hot man, ready and proper at 8am. If it was just your aunt, you’d not care. But you felt a need for performance in front of a stranger.
To make it worse, he definitely noticed your struggle, with a teasing glint in his grey eyes. “You look absolutely radiant this morning,” he complimented, and it actually wasn’t sarcastic. It sounded honest, whether it was or not. You felt a heat come up in your cheeks, not expecting a sudden appreciation. It sounded gentlemanly, yet at the same time, for some reason, you felt played with.
But now that you exposed yourself to Eric already, you had no choice but to simply sit your buttocks down, facing your aunt on the opposite, who happily poured a cup of hot drink for you.
“Er…thank you, Eric. I’m glad to know my mess didn’t scare you away,” you said bit dryly. But instead of getting offended at your lack of enthusiasm for his compliment, you made him laugh, not in a way to mock you. He was rather entertained by you.
“You could never.”
After a short silence, you spoke again. “So, Auntie, how is the search going?” you asked curiously. You now knew the importance of the painting for her—something she saw in her childhood that got stuck in her head, no doubt expensive to be bought. She must have saved a lot of money for this one, even lowering the quality of her life for it, despite it still being rich enough.
“I’m glad you ask, my dear!” Cynthia was clearly excited. “Eric managed to find one of the previous sellers, and I’ll get to meet him in few days!
With how you knew how important that painting was to your aunt and now long she’s been trying to find it, you were genuinely impressed with Eric. You turned to look at him. “I see. Good job, Eric.” He smiled at you, nodding. “Don’t mention it. I’m nothing but happy to help your aunt make her dream come true.”
Eric really was perfect. Or rather, behaved that way. Because when was the last time you’ve met a man to be this? He surely can’t be that good.
The breakfast dragged on for a while, as your aunt was talkative as usual, seemingly loving talking with Eric who was simply a great conversationalist, knowing how to make a woman feel noticed. You felt a bit like a third wheel, but at the same time, glad to not be a part of Eric’s attention. Albeit, he occasionally glanced at you, judging your expression.
The conversation finally went back to you. “So…you’re still going to the city to find that book?” your aunt asked curiously, bringing up one of your discussions. Eric visibly perked up a bit, as if showing interest in topic of books, his curiosity growing in his gray eyes.
You scratched your jaw. “Yeah…there are so many antique shops here though, I don’t even know where to start…”
The Perfect Eric answered quickly, seemingly an expert in another field too. “What book are you looking for? Perhaps I can help.” You don’t think you’ve seen that look on his face before. He always looked interested when talking about the lost painting with your aunt, however a random book mention aroused him more.
It intrigued you. Wouldn’t a guy working at the museum be more interested in the first?
“My book, is called “Prideful Kill” by…”
“Herbert Chess,” he interjected knowingly.
You blinked. That Eric, he seemed to know his literature well. Definitely better than you did. “Y-yes. So you know where I can find it?” you asked hopefully. It was a book you wanted to get for a while, a book you couldn’t buy anymore. You weren’t a bookworm, but that book carried importance to you, as your friend was a bookworm. A collector.
“I don’t, but I know a few places that might be selling it. Can I ask you why you’re looking for it?”
“A gift.” He nodded in understanding, though perhaps with a disappointment you didn’t share his enthusiasm about reading. “So where should I go?”
“Why don’t I show you around?”
You both left Cynthia’s apartment.
☆
Your black haired companion took you to various antique shops, ranging from ones that looked as if they were falling apart, back to more refined ones. His enthusiasm about books—you do admit—was becoming contagious. Perhaps you judged him too harshly at first, as the guy seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself when it came to art. You didn’t know book hunting could be so fun…or maybe it was just him.
When Eric asked you about your taste in books, you laughed at yourself. “My taste? Don’t bother, I’ll look cheap next to you!”
“Oh, come on. Reading anything is better than not reading at all,” he assured in his gentlemanly way. “I can always fix your taste.”
You pretended to be annoyed, before responding, “I like cheap romance. You know those 100 jenny romance novels they sell in supermarkets, in some random aisle? That’s my jam.”
He looked at you in surprise, before erupting into a startled laugh, not expecting this answer. And that made you feel embarrassed, your cheeks coming up to be warm.
“See? I told you. And you’re laughing at me…” you said grumpily. “I’m not laughing at you…I’m just surprised.” When you didn’t believe him for a second, as he kept laughing until a shop clerk had to scold him to be quiet, he said, “really”. He calmed down under the reminder. “But why though?”
“You really can’t accept this answer…” you sighed and shrugged your shoulders. “But fine, I’ll tell you. I just…have so much to do on daily, I don’t want to exhaust my mind further with something complicated.”
“Ah, I see. Simply a junk food, or rather, comfort food for your head,” he said with a sympathetic voice. When talking further, his eyes drove you a little bit crazy—they were such a whirlpool of grey, so sharp, you could never tell he was honest. So you had to assume he was.
☆
It took you few more antique stores to finally find your book, making you feel satisfied at your success.
“I really cannot thank you enough. I couldn’t find this book online, and you found it in a random store, with an owner not even aware of its worth? Though, now I kinda feel bad for not telling him…” you said a bit guilty.
“Don’t be. You wouldn’t want to pay its full price, would you?” he teased.
“Well, no, but—“ “No but. Be little evil with me today. I assure you, this man won’t be getting any poor any time soon,” he said with a chuckle.
“Fine, fine.” You thought of your next move, whether you should do it or not, but feeling so grateful, you stood on your toes and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. Eric’s eyes widened slightly, and he lingered this way, as if deciding whether he should like your kiss or not. He chose the latter, smiling at you, and his greatness showed something new—a hint of excitement.
“So that’s why the entire store smelled like strawberries,” he guessed about your lipgloss with a teasing smile, to which you snickered. “My bad. Chemical strawberry will always be stronger than a proper, expensive perfume I waste money on.”
Eric laughed in amusement.
☆
Your day passed relatively fast, as Eric made it better. Despite getting what you wanted, you let him take you to other places, deciding a guide in Yorknew was great and needed, and that Eric’s company was delicious enough. When did a guy ever make you laugh so much? A man who didn’t take your bantering as being bitchy, who-even better-knew how to reciprocate. Eric seemed really healthy in his emotional regulation.
You felt a little sad when he walked you back to Cynthia’s apartment building, having enjoyed his presence. As you said your goodbyes and were about to head inside, he stopped you. “Wait.” You turned around to look at him with a confusion. “Yes, Eric?”
“Will you let me take you out on a date?” Your heart drummed in your ears as you heard his unexpected question. Did he like you that much? You felt appreciated, noticed, flattered-though anxious too. Not only were you worried he was trying to get into your pants to propose a date so soon, you also didn’t want to start something you can’t finish.
“Eric, I…” you started with uncertainty. “I’m here for maybe two more weeks. I don’t want to go on a date with someone I can’t be with.”
He smiled gently. “Did you think I forget that? I took that into consideration…and I won’t pressure you for more than a bit of your time. I just wish to spend more time with you before you go.”
And you were sold on the idea.
☆
When the day, and evening, of your date came, you were on tenterhooks. You made yoursef look your best, with a help of your aunt, considering Eric wasn't taking you to some coffee date, but a nice restaurant. Despite all that, you couldn't help but be nervous. You weren't on a date for a while, being too busy with work, or you were simply offered things that weren't even a bare minimum, and with a contrast, Eric seemed like a great guy...it was just his mysteriousness that always left you slightly unsettled.
No matter--you were leaving Yorknew soon enough, and you deserved a little date with a hot and funny guy before going back to mess your life was.
You waited outside of your building, ignoring curious glances of passing by men. Eric's car arrived soon and to lack of surprise--even his car was nice. Black, sleek, some expensive model, freshly washed-was guy working at museum really making that much money? Though, if your wealthy enough aunt had him as her connection, surely he had to be of her circle of prosperous people. You were really starting to regret you can't have him for longer period of time.
As he stepped out of his car, he smiled widely when he saw you, and had to do a little up-and-down with his eyes. "You look gorgeous. I feel honored to have you for this evening." His mouth was golden as always, making sure his compliment wasn't some simple 'you look good'. "At the same time, I already feel sad we can't repeat our date."
You gave him an apologetic curl of your lips, sharing his sentiment. But you both weren't there to be sad. "That's why we should make the best of it, Eric."
Eric led you to his car, making sure to open the door for you and buckle up your seatbalt for you.
☆
The conversation at a warmly toned restaurant was going well with you two, and at some point, Eric put his hand on top of yours on the table, which you didn't shake off. You believed small touches were allowed with a man you won't see again.
"You know..." he started, his eyes almost of a hawk. He was evaluating you the same way he did the first time you met two weeks ago. It felt odd to you, as if atmosphere had changed for a moment. Your hand became a little squirmy under his, as you tried to tell yourself you were just paranoid. "I really don't want to see you go. I think we are having an easy time talking to each other..." You were a challenge for him too. Being supposedly charmed by him, but never fully letting your guard down. Making yourself seem so unworthy, only for your golden mind say something that catches him off guard and gives him a new perspective on things; rather bluntly at that.
But most importantly, you were honest to the bone. In his mind, you were so full of life--unlike him, you were grounded-you knew what you wanted and what you believed in. Eric envied you. He liked observing you, taking a note of each thing you said, making assumptions and coming to another conclusion, that you really were a real human. And as a human he saw you-not a toy-even if you were his specimen.
He only was a little bit disappointed when you didn't notice him following you around Yorknew. He wanted to keep you at suspense, relishing in the fact it was him that got your attention. Maybe you'd run to him, seeking out his protection, not knowing he’s the real culprit.
He smiled at you warmly, bringing confusion into you. You must have been seeing things before, since his words and expression were nothing but sweet. "Yes...I think I'll miss you too, Eric," you said honestly. His smile widened.
☆
Eric kept his promise-he didn't expect for anything else than your time. It was your fault that led you to your current situation-quickly reserving a room in the nearest hotel. Despite what you told yourself about not sleeping on first dates, you were the one coming onto Eric, after you became slighlty tipsy due to glasses of wine. You suspected it wasn't the only factor-wine was just a courage maker, your motivation laid somewhere else. You were overwhelmed by sense of sadness you felt at the notion of leaving Eric behind, that was only amplified by his affectionate words from before. And Eric happened to reciprocate your attraction, seeing your eagerness.
With your arms and legs wrapped around his body as he held you up in the air, your heels almost stabbing his behind, Eric pinned you to the wall, before devouring your lips in a French kiss, even this perfected to the core.
Not even counting when, you were on your back on bed, with Eric shoving his head under your dress’s skirt.
Even less few of moments later, you had to hold tightly onto him, as he spilled nasty praises into your ears, rocking harshly into you, as if chasing you.
“You really make me wonder, how can I let you go, huh?” He pulled your head back by your hair, before leaving a rough bite on your neck meant to stay forever one day. “You squeeze me as if you don’t want me to…and I don’t think I will.”
Your makeup was smudged as you cried for him so enticingly, he had to make up his mind to not tie you down right here and have his way with you for the rest of your night, or even better-until you have to beg him to stop. He was like a wild haunter, eyeing each of your reaction, you being ever more humane for him despite animalistic scenery; you were even more of his victim, and it was this condensed event when he realized who you truly were.
You were the zenith of his life, meant to be the last piece of puzzle falling into its place.
☆
When you woke up in the morning, you had to collect your mind, to come up with the idea of what happened before falling asleep. You felt the warmth of another person on you, something you’ve been starved of in your busy, just to realize it’s Eric. Now you did remember, especially with a slight soreness in your lower body.
You couldn’t regret this though. Eric made you feel good, he listened to you and your body, even if you had an idea he was holding back a lot just for your sake. You looked up at him, to see his eyes open already, his expression going from watchful to gentle.
“Did you sleep well?” You nodded lazily, and yawned. “Yes, and to be honest, I quite enjoyed myself last night, Eric.”
Something like a glint of satisfaction passed past his face, disappearing as quickly.
It was a phone call that disrupted your train of thoughts about such look. Eric swiftly sat up. “Sorry, it’s work.”
“Ah, you mean your museum?”
He looked at you with amusement. “Yes.”
☆
Eric made sure to drive you back to your aunt regardless.
You haven’t heard from him for next few days and you were starting to feel bad. He used you, didn’t he? He’s not calling or coming. You were catching up with his game…Making you feel special, bringing you close with telling you what you wanted to hear, acting as if he doesn’t want to sleep with you because he knew you’d come to him willingly. You were such a fool, falling for a classic player, a love bomber. The dinner he paid for was your body’s price, and he left a mark that will be there for days, to remind you of this humiliation.
This disrespectful man ruined your last week of your stay in Yorknew, as your mood was in shambles.
You were about to enter your aunt’s apartment, when you heard that damned voice. Right-you forgot he was still helping your aunt with finding the painting. At least Cynthia wasn’t screwed up by him. You entered the place, with a promise to tell him what you think, to say something so cruel he’ll feel nothing but a shame that even a church confessional won’t fix-
Your aunt was lying on the floor. Your aunt, was lying on the floor, while Eric was there. She was in the kitchen, while he was somewhere in the living room.
You froze in the hallway, your eyes wide and your heart pumping so much blood you could pass out. Eric clearly heard you enter, you remembered how this apartment soaked sound, but you didn’t hear his footsteps yet. You dropped your bag onto the floor, running to poor woman’s rescue, and praying she’s not dead.
You were dazed by confusion. What did Eric do? Why Cynthia?
You threw yourself at the floor, checking her pulse. She was breathing thankfully. Next moment, a voice startled you. It turned out Eric did make steps-you just didn’t hear them. How? What sort of a beast was Eric? “Don’t worry, she’s just unconscious. She’ll be fine.”
Your head whipped back fast, staring at him like a fish gulping for water. You had no choice but to worry, regardless of his words. He attacked your poor aunt, and clearly, without alibi. You were slowly realizing, everything was orchestrated somehow.
“Eric? What did you do?” you asked high on panic. Eric didn’t answer. He squatted down next to you, looking first at your aunt with apathy, then back at you with something meaner. He put his hand on your shoulder, which you tried to shook off. “Don’t touch me!” you half-screamed, with Eric keeping his hand steady on you still.
“Calm down. She’ll wake up, eventually.”
You couldn’t calm down. Were you to know something’s up before you entered the apartment, you would have called police first. But now in front of Eric, you knew he’d stop you. You trashed when he brought you into his arms, his presence no longer welcome and warm to you. You were trying to theorize how you, Cynthia and painting were connected, but nothing came to your panicked mind.
“Let me go, Eric!”
“It’s Chrollo.”
“W-what?” you said in shock. His name, it was all a lie too. Though you weren’t sure why he’d admit to that.
“It’s Chrollo. Can you say it for me?” he asked, stroking your hair, as if soothing a frightened animal. But his expressionless face didn’t match touch’s intention.
“No, you freak! Tell me what is the meaning of all of this!” you said in anger. For a moment, you were worried that perhaps, you provoked a man this dangerous to hurt you. But he merely squeezed you a bit tighter, though as a clear warning, and sighed.
“I’ll explain everything, but only if you say my name.” His need was clear. You forced yourself to say it, wanting to get through this hell faster. Maybe if you’ll play your cards right, you and your Cynthia will come out safe. “C-Chrollo,” you said with a slight stutter from your nerves. He smiled with satisfaction, before forcing you both up on your feet. “Let’s talk then.” He started to take you to another room. “But my aunt-“ “I said she’ll be fine.” So you had no choice but to follow him, with his arm over your shoulder. Each thought was paranoid, coming up with worst things he could possibly do to you.
You entered your guest bedroom, not living room, and he seated himself next to you on your temporary bed. Chrollo turned to look at you, playing with a trace on your neck he’s given you during your hookup. Close proximity made you even more unsafe, and his touch forced an unpleasant thrill into you, leaving his bite to feel like a brand.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions…and not all of them can be answered, unfortunately,” he started seriously, making you wonder how much he’ll hide, after he hid enough. “Let’s start with the painting. That part is true—I did help your aunt find this painting, though it wasn’t for her. It was for myself.”
“So what…you used her connections to get something you wanted?” you asked confused, trying not to think about unconscious person in the kitchen to focus on your conversation. But you already felt even angrier, at the idea Chrollo would use your aunt, after he used you…because surely none of that romantic behavior could be real.
“You could say that, if I couldn’t simply steal that painting instead of having your aunt buy it, once it’s found.” Your eyes widened. Then why didn’t he just steal it? Who was he exactly? It was now clear, Chrollo wasn’t some artsy museum worker. “Just who are you, Chrollo? Some kind of thief?”
He chuckled and took your hand into his. “I guess that’s the best word to describe me, though I wouldn’t call myself “some kind”.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever heard of a group called “Phantom Troupe?””
If you thought you felt real fear before, now you’d be wrong. Because you did hear that name before, and now knew, you were fucked. Phantom Troupe was a notorious group made out of spider-members, who stole greatest treasures. And killed.
You were facing not only a thief, but also a cold blooded murderer.
Dread would kill you first then.
“…you’re one of them?” you barely choked out. The group members—no one knew their faces, besides few chosen hunters who had an opportunity to fight them and actually survive. You couldn’t have known. You knew it wasn’t your fault, but you felt like an utter fool anyway. You weren’t played by some womanizer. You weren’t charmed like an idiot by some manipulator. You got caught in the web of a poisonous spider.
“I’m their leader, in fact. Do you remember my back tattoo?” His words rang like pounding echo in your head. You remembered that weird tattoo, a spider with number zero. A worst criminal you knew, in your aunt’s house, touched your aunt, touched you; was inside of you!, was inside your life. You didn’t even realize when you started crying in defeat. You were going to be killed by him, weren’t you?
“Don’t cry. I won’t hurt you, as long as you comply with me,” Chrollo reassured, as much as it could be a reassurance for you. You looked so scared, he almost felt something for you among sympathetic emotions. Because you just reminded him, how raw you were, something he was so obsessed with like a perverse, guilty pleasure.
Chrollo wiped your tears, deciding to continue with his story regardless of your emotional distress. “Why didn’t you just steal it then?” you finally asked. “Why did you have to drag my aunt into this?”
He thought about his answer for a mere second. “Because it’d be boring.” It was as if he punched you in the stomach. Your silence was deadly.
“Boring?! You’re a thief, how is it boring? Why did you have to use my aunt?” Chrollo looked at you with pity, as if disappointed you haven’t cracked his existence yet. He had a lot of hope for you, to understand him one day, since he couldn’t truly do it himself…but he’ll make sure you do eventually.
“I find the thrill of chase much more appealing than the thrill of having. I could simply grab something, but once I have it, the game is over. Leaving little leads for Cynthia to explore, having to wait for results, being able to make her pay for that painting…it is a crucial ritual before I can claim something.”
“Though, there’s something that made the chase even more better. Do you remember what I told you that night?” he inquired with a weird look in his eyes. You knew what he meant by that night, but it was only now you understood the significance of his words from that moment of passion-[“You squeeze me as if you don’t want me to… I don’t think I will anytime soon.”] You, at first had believed them to be a reference to multiple rounds of sex, only for them to be the forecast of your future. Chrollo had told you what he’ll do back then, and you didn’t listen. You had your chance to run away and you didn’t take it, because he hid his double meaning well.
You now knew the answer to what made the chase better, was simply “you”, considering those little touches and weird looks he was giving you the entire time. You were realizing, that perhaps all these meetings weren’t meant to be Chrollo using you, but Chrollo enjoying you. You brought him a great exploration, and this final moment, was just the beginning. You were meant to be here and witness this situation; it was meant to a catalyst for Chrollo twisting you into his little games and life. “What…what was that hotel room about?” Despite your suspicions, you could, what felt like never, catch up with a mind as deranged as Chrollo’s. So your question came out like one from an exhausted mouth.
“Everything,” he said straightforwardly. His thumb stroked your hand. “It was just another part of what we can have together, (Y/N). Albeit, I had a self realization that night, that you are the key to exploring my own being. I don’t remember the last time someone left me so confused, yet so enlightened.”
His words were leaving your brain scrambled like eggs. What could he possibly mean? You couldn’t be even comforted by the idea of him turning out to not use you, if replacement was arguably worse. Eri-, no, Chrollo was finally letting you know his true feelings and words, not sugared by charm, but you despised this. “Chrollo, I really can’t…just…tell me what’s going on,” you said almost hysterically.
“It means you are mine and you will be for a while, (Y/N),” he said intensely. “And I plan to make you understand me, and understand you as well.”
His words sent a shot of unsettlement through you, leaving your chest gnawing in horror. You did not agree to be his, but you felt claimed already, as you knew he wouldn’t stop, not until you’re completely soaked in his being.
“Im not yours. I’m not some item, one of those things you steal!” you shouted in frustration. Chrollo sent you a small glare, one enough icy to be a threat to force submission into you. “I’m a thief. If I decide it’s you who I want, I’ll simply grab you. If you cooperate, I’m sure your life can be better than whatever deadbeat corporate you work for.”
You were terrified, not wanting to provoke him further, but at the same time, you wanted to run. But you couldn’t, as you remembered about your aunt in the kitchen, momentarily feeling guilt about forgetting her.
“I—listen, I just want to know what is going to happen to my aunt.” You were sacrificing yourself.
“Nothing will happen to her. I had to knock her out, so we can talk in peace…and because she was rather angry about the painting,” he said as if telling a joke, but you didn’t laugh. “I’ll let her be, she’ll be just a little bit sad about her painting and niece being stolen. That is, you come with me,” the threat in his voice was clear.
He lifted your chin up, looking into your expressionism of eyes, making a painting of them in his mind. Seeing his own reflection in your glassy tears on your eyeballs, he thought he could see through himself as well.
“Come with you? Come where?” You sniffled.
“Wherever I go, my love.”
☆
You weren’t even given a chance to say goodbye to your aunt, when you were dragged away from the apartment before she could wake up. You couldn’t even pack.
There was a car waiting for you two, and you had a hunch stolen painting was in its trunk. The car was different from one Chrollo took you on the date with, same could have been said for its additional passenger. A blonde, boyish looking man as a driver, and his pink haired female passenger.
You didn’t speak to any of them, when Chrollo put you in the backseat next to him. You didn’t even listen to his communication with what you believed to be troupe members. Chrollo proved to be a thief in every pore of his body, when he was taking you away for himself.
Through your shaken up mind, you only wondered when will you hear about your missing person report.