Ceifador X: The Knight’s Rose Prequel

by Vice, Demi

  “What do you mean, live there? Like you live here, live here? Like in this mansion?” With me? With each question, I came closer to Antonio until the fabric of my pants touched his back. The touch was minuscule but impactful. He grunted as he stood up, still holding the dollhouse.

  “You get a knife, I get a dollhouse. A gift for a gift. Equal exchange.”

  “Why do you want the dollhouse?”

  I blinked once, taking another mental photo. The man dressed in black wearing a metal skull for a face, holding a mini dollhouse between his thumb and index finger.

  “It calls to me. And if I want it, I take it.” I heard his smile.

  He walked toward the door, and my eyes followed his butt. It was firm and round, and I found myself smiling. When he was too close to the door for my comfort, I hopped over a few black squares and looped my finger in his belt loop. Antonio stopped.

  “Visit me again, please. Tomorrow, next week, next month for my birthday. Our birthday. I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” I begged.

  If I sounded desperate, it was because I was. I was desperate for attention, for experience, for the good and bad, for making mistakes, for breaking the rules, and for anything and everything in between. But most of all, I was desperate for my life to start before it ended, and Antonio Castillo made me feel alive.

  “I can’t.” Antonio turned toward me, the painted anatomy on his neck more realistic with each long drop of his blood. “I shouldn’t be here with you. We both know that.”

  I knew that, but I was selfish.

  “I won’t tell,” I replied.

  “Those are dangerous words all great secrets start with, Bianca.” He paused. His whole demeanor darkened. “Don’t ever say them again.”

  “I won’t tell,” I mouthed, never speaking out loud.

  I heard his smile again.

  “I make dangerous mistakes and stupid decisions when I’m drunk, Bianca.”

  My brow muscles furrowed. “I’m NOT a dangerous mistake OR a stupid decision, Antonio.”

  “Oh, yes you are,” he confidently said, convincing me, too. He sighed heavily. “But that’s why I came back. I’m addicted to anything that’s going to kill me. And you, Bianca Di Vaio…” He picked up the mini dollhouse and spoke to it. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he stated matter-of-fact and pointed at his chest. “I can feel it. But I’m ignoring it.”

  Backward, he hopped over the squares.

  “Why are you wearing a mask? Why did you paint your neck? And face? Are you ugly?” I threw as many questions as I could to get him to stay.

  He stopped and filled my room with a rich laugh.

  “You can’t ask if someone’s ugly. They’ll never admit it.”

  “Why not? I’m ugly. That’s why Papa makes me wear a wig when he comes and visits me.”

  He just stood there, rooted to the ground like vines had broken through his glossy shoes and crawled around his legs.

  “I know you call me gorgeous, but it’s just a word you add on the end of the sentence. I still like it though.”

  Antonio took a step toward me, his chest only an inch away. My thin neck fully exposed and snapped back to stare into his hollow eyes. He cupped my cheek, rubbing his leather touch on my velvet skin.

  “Your full beauty is being held hostage, but I see. I see that your eyes can make the sky jealous. I see that your smile can break hearts and bones. I can see that you aren’t meant for this world because you’re out of the ordinary. I see you, Bianca, I see. So, never, and I mean never, call yourself ugly. Understand?”

  My body defied time as I froze, taking in his words.

  “Tell me you understand.” He pinched my chin.

  “I understand.” My voice cracked, as did my heart. He moved toward the door. “You’re coming back, right?” He choked the handle of my door. “I love peaches,” I frantically said when he turned the knob. “I can’t have a lot of food because of my allergies, but I love peaches.”

  He opened the door slowly.

  “Please, Antonio. I don’t bite, I promise.” I smiled, giving him proof. “And I promise, I won’t be the death of you. I cross my heart and hope to die.”

  Click, click, click.

  Antonio stood outside the door as he let out a defeated sigh. As if saying no to me was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

  “I’ll see what I can do, Bianca.”

  Antonio left, and I stood alone once again, staring at my white door.

  Curiosity was how our story began. Curious with alcohol. Curious with boredom. It was that simple, but I was in dire need for a middle and end of my story.

  I hopped over the black squares, and I took a seat in front of my switchblade and paintbrush that had stained my carpet. I picked up the switchblade and pushed the button. The blade opened with such force it almost fell out of my grip. The matte black steel was deadly sharp but engraved with beautiful roses and vines. I turned the blade around, rubbing my thumb over the engraved handle.

  Ceifador X.

  Chapter Three

  “He isn’t coming,” I moped.

  My birthday had passed an hour ago, and now I was alone while New York City lived wild and free on a warm August night.

  Yesterday, like always, Papa visited me in the morning, but this time he brought along presents. New clothes, all white or pink, a few books for my library, paints for my paintings, more clothes, a new iPod that was all touch screen, more clothes, and a few things I didn’t need.

  I had enough clothes to go absolutely nowhere, I read the books Papa bought me, I only painted in black, and I liked my old orange iPod Nano. Out of the presents, I only liked one. A vintage Polaroid camera that was the size of a book and popped open when I needed to snap a photo. And for the past few hours, the photographer in me thought the best subject for a photoshoot were my toes as I laid in bed.

  I took more pictures while “Bleeding Love” by Leona Lewis blasted in my ears on repeat. After about an hour and countless photos of my feet, I acted on what had been on my mind.

  I pulled my earbuds out and stormed into my walk-in closet. Grabbing a handful of my new clothes, I dropped them in the tub. I decided to keep my baby pink birthday dress because of its long, bat-like wing sleeves. I stared at my new clothes in the tub, tags still intact, wanting one thing.

  To burn them.

  I grabbed a lighter that Camila once left in my room from under my mattress and set fire to the tags, spreading to the fabric of my unworn clothes. The fire slowly grew, but it never got as big as I hoped. I went back into my room, grabbed all the photos I had just taken and tossed them in the tub.

  The flames expanded, but I didn’t stray away from the wild blazes. Hypnotized by the orange and yellows, all my other senses faded until an arm wrapped around my waist from behind. I screamed, but it was cut short when a leather hand covered my mouth. Immediately, I melted in Antonio’s arms, but he never removed his hand.

  All emotions came brewing—excessive bliss, guilty desire, and angry sadness.

  All smells came flooding—peach perfume, ashes, alcohol, and cigarettes.

  All sound came crashing—sparks of the fire, heavy breathing, and Antonio’s throaty growl.

  “I told you not to scream, gorgeous.” The cold and slurred words left his metal skull.

  Antonio slowly dropped his hand and hugged my small waist. His cold mask rested on the nape of my neck, and his hard chest tightly pressed into my bony back. It felt nothing like being hugged by Papa. It felt warm and sacred like it was supposed to be cherished forever in my memories.

  Antonio lifted me up; my feet hung above the floor before he set me on top of the toilet seat, facing him. He placed his hands on my arms and looked up at me through hollowed angry black eyes.

  “I missed you,” he singsonged in a muffled soft voice. “Oh, I missed you so much, minha Rosa.”

  Rosa?

  “You’re drunk, Antonio? Worse than before,” I stated sorrowfully.


  “I’m Birthday Drunk.” He cupped my sunken cheeks. “Feliz aniversário, Bianca.”

  It happened so fast—my first kiss. Despite the fact that it was protected by a mask, I kissed back. My lips remained pursed when he pulled away, but my brain and body reacted in the worst possible way.

  I had an anxiety attack.

  Nerves and fears kicked in high gear, and my breaths became uneasy and harsh.

  “Hey, Bianca. Bianca?” Antonio’s voice was full of worry as I started to hyperventilate. “Bianca?”

  I pushed Antonio out of my way, ran next door to my closet and opened the cabinet I hid Gen inside. The cold oxygen flowed through my lungs, helping me breathe once again. Sitting on the floor with the tube in my nose, I watched the doorway.

  Antonio never followed me.

  He turned the water on in the tub, but then it went silent. Before I stood up, something clashed on the carpet and rolled my way. Antonio’s mask.

  I rolled Gen out of the cabinet and made my way to the mask. Blood inked the inside, and the steel was heavier than I expected for someone to wear as a face. I dropped it on the floor and rolled my way to the bathroom with Gen close behind.

  Antonio was slouched on the toilet, eyes closed with his head resting on the tank. He held a white hand towel on his bloody face, which like his neck, was painted black and white following the anatomy of a skull. But the paint on the lower half was smudged and mixed with his blood.

  “Me desculpe, Bianca. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry.” He raked his hand through his peppered hair and pulled it, hard.

  Rolling my way to him, I stood between his wide legs, hovering over his face and trying to get a better look. But he covered too much with the towel to get a clear view.

  Without thinking, I sat on Antonio’s lap; my tippy toes hovering over the marble floor. His eyes shot open. They were deep blue, matching my library door. My only escape.

  The big ocean found their way to my sky and goosebumps spread across my body. As he sat up, our gazes never left each other. He lowered the bloody towel, and I saw the face of the man who broke Papa’s rules.

  Even with all the blood, he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. If anything, the blood made him more beautiful. More alive.

  I swallowed when I placed my hands on his cheeks, feeling his structure. His cheeks were a little sunken but matched his physique. He had stubble, but it didn’t take away from how deadly his jawline was. I couldn’t see much of his real skin, but from the parts where the paint came off, he was naturally rich and tan.

  I blinked, and I took a picture forever.

  Deep blues surrounded by black holes, thick tamed eyebrows, and full, kissable lips. My attention was stolen by those lips. Painted in black, white, red, and perfection, they curled into a wicked smile.

  “I told you I wasn’t ugly.” He flashed a pearly white and bloody red smile. His teeth all straight.

  Is it this normal to be this attracted to teeth? To bones?

  “You never said you weren’t,” I corrected him.

  He laughed, and his chest bounced against my arm. I grabbed the towel when blood dripped and patted his nose. He had some tiny scars, like small holes near his lip and marks on his earlobes and eyebrow. His straight nose had a slight bump in it, and his cheek and upper lip had an old, deep scar.

  “You look like a beautiful fighter,” I said in a tiny voice.

  He let out a chuckle as he rolled his eyes. “You don’t call a man beautiful, Bianca.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you call them handsome, hot, or fuckable.”

  There he went again, using that word.

  “Fuck, verb, to have sexual intercourse with someone. Or to ruin and destroy something.” Antonio smiled with his eyes. “I-I also know what horny means.” I blushed.

  Antonio dropped the towel on my lap. He bit his lip and flicked a brow before he cunningly demanded, “Tell me, gorgeous, what does horny mean?”

  I couldn’t say it to his face. I swiped my head to the bathroom door and softly spoke, “Horny, adjective, feeling or arousing sexual excitement.”

  His firm hand around my waist tightened as his other hand found the outside of my thigh. His leather touch; half on my skin and half on my dress. He pulled me closer, and I choked the towel in my fist, as I deadpanned the door and burned red. The weight of my body felt heavy and light as he pressed me into his.

  “And tell me, have you ever felt horny?” His voice masked with lust and hunger.

  Even with the oxygen tube feeding me air, my breaths became tortured. Antonio loosened his grip, seeing the effects of his power. When I calmed down, he moved me off his lap; the marble floor cold under my touch.

  “I’m just playing. Flirting. I’d never touch you, Bianca. Not like that,” he said as he pulled the towel out of my grip.

  “Flirting?”

  He blinked once and cleared his throat. “It’s like playing with the toys in the store but never buying them. You just want to have some fun, but nothing serious. It’s harmless.”

  I nodded, nervously playing with my dress hem.

  “So, that kiss—”

  “It was through a mask,” he reminded me.

  “It still counts.” Or at least, I wanted it to.

  “Not for me. I don’t kiss, ever. Especially not you.” He emphasized as if kissing me would be the end of humanity. When he saw the hurt he caused me, he explained, “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not you, it’s me. I don’t like kissing. Never have and never will. It’s too... intimate?”

  “It’s too intimate?”

  He nodded.

  I swallowed my words, but they found a way out. “If you don’t like intimacy, does that mean you’ve never had sexual intercourse?” He blankly stared. I laced my hands behind my back and spoke to my feet. “When two people—”

  Antonio burst out laughing.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “I don’t need an explanation, Bianca. Trust me.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “So, you’ve had it? Sex?” I whispered.

  “A few times.” The side of his mouth curled as he looked away at the door.

  “Which means you’ve been in love.”

  Antonio’s face fell, but he never looked my way.

  “When two people love each other—”

  He stopped me with a touch and a soft glare.

  “Talvez você seja ingênuo e jovem demais para entender.”

  I pursed my lips to the side. “Perhaps you’re too naive and too young to understand.”

  Antonio and I didn’t say much after that. He went to the sink to rinse my towel as I sat on the toilet and watched him. His nose no longer bled, but there was dry blood mixed in with his painted skull. He looked like a mess, but a pretty one.

  “Hey, wash your hands. You touched my blood.”

  “Your blood isn’t going to kill me, and if it does…” I shrugged.

  I’m sure Mandy was placing it in the bowl. I could see it now. Death by Antonio’s blood.

  As I washed my hands, Antonio went into my room. I heard him snap a few photos, then he filled my room with a single laugh. A few seconds later, Antonio came back with my camera in his hand and something behind his back.

  “I got you something.”

  He pulled a peach from behind his back with a single white candle in its core and I eagerly snatched my gift. I brought the peach toward my lips, but before I could touch the fuzz, Antonio pulled it away from me. He flicked out his lighter, the same one from a month ago, and lit the candle. I held the peach in my palms, watching the flames match my fruit.

  “Make a wish.”

  I always made wishes. I wished on flying planes I pretended were shooting stars, and full moons I was convinced were powerful gods. And I always made the same wish.

  I wish I could live.

  I blew out the candle, and Antonio snapped a photo. I was blinded for a split second, then took the candle o
ut, threw it in the sink, and flicked the tip of my tongue on the fuzzy peach skin. Antonio crossed his arms, propped his shoulder against the bathroom door frame, and watched me with deep confusion.

  “What are you doing to that peach?”

  “I like how it feels.” I petted the peach and smiled. “Fruit shouldn’t feel like this. Like fabric.”

  He smiled, his high cheekbones were just as sharp as his mask.

  “Wait, happy birthday,” I gasped. “I forgot to tell you, I’m sorry. And I didn’t get you anything.”

  “Yes, you did. This…” He lifted the photo he took of me. “And…” he added as he fished something out from his back pocket. My orange iPod.

  “That’s mine!” I shouted.

  I chucked my peach in the sink and stormed toward Antonio with Gen behind me. He dangled my iPod above my head and wickedly smiled. I tried to jump for it, but I grew tired and quickly gave up.

  “That’s not an equal exchange. You got—took two presents.”

  “So, did you, Bianca. A kiss and a peach.”

  “But I never gave you my iPod!” I snarled, pulling on his skinny black tie to bring him down to my level. He didn’t budge, and he ended up smiling even harder, never taking my anger seriously.

  “If I want it, I take it. I made that very clear, Bianca.” He uncurled my fingers from his necktie, left the bathroom, and shoved my iPod back into the pocket of his round butt. “Plus, you got a new iPod. Use that!” he shouted from my closet.

  “Why don’t you take the new one?” I sassed as I followed him.

  “It doesn’t have your music.”

  “You won’t like my music.”

  “Oh, I know. OneRepublic? Justin Timberlake? And NSYNC? Really?” He snorted a cocky laugh and picked up his mask from the floor.

  “See, you don’t like my music. Give it back.”

  He huffed a laugh before he hid his face. Instead of coming toward me, near the exit, he fell deeper into my closet.

  “Is this your natural color? Brown? And straight?” Antonio asked, facing my wig.

  I nodded as I pulled up next to him with Gen by my side.