The Story of Blood and Roses 61 Anatomy Of A Man

The door was unlocked, to my surprise. I knew that it was probable that he wasn't there. So, I pushed the door slightly open and called out to him. I waited for a few seconds before I called out again.

There was still no answer.

I sighed in frustration and ran my hands through my hair roughly. It was then I heard the sound of running water. I figured that he was taking a shower and wandered out of the room. I heard the door open from inside his room and walked faster. Then I heard his voice.

I flinched, considerably. I didn't want to do this. Not now, not ever. I planted myself firmly where I was but didn't dare to look back.

The door slowly creaked open. I heard the padding of his feet coming from behind me.

"Did you want something?" he spoke softly, his voice rough. He cleared his throat and the awkwardness ensued. I realized that I couldn't just stand there silently, so, I turned around to face him.

I took great care in not looking south of his face.

"I was trying to find you," I admitted in a tight voice. The tension rose in the room. He seemed to remain oblivious to it. He scratched his jaw as he scrutinized me.

"I thought Sean was here already." His eyes returned to mine as he spoke. The pointed look left me a bit confused.

"I... well I thought there would be others who would arrive as well." I shrugged at that. I heard a huff coming from him.

"They will arrive eventually. They are not as punctual as you are. You'll get used to it as I have." He shrugged nonchalantly. My eyes wandered to his shoulders and lower and lower and widened a bit. A greater portion of his left shoulder blade was covered in black ink. I would have tried to get a better look, but I imagined that would end badly.

I could make out sharp patterns and its tribal nature, but nothing more.

Obviously, my eyes wandered lower. What I saw below was equally... intriguing. Most men of all ages weren't as well maintained as the thirty-four-year-old man standing in front of me. He was lean, yet muscular enough to show that he worked hard to keep fit. He had strong hands and the fingers of a master shooter. His fingers were unmoving, calmer than the slightly quaky fingers of experienced snipers. He had small scars over his skin—souvenirs from the battles he had won and survived to be where he was.

The scrutiny took but one minute but left me a hell lot more curious. His unmoving hands and firm shoulders screamed, 'fighter.'

I yearned to hear the story about every victory of his. I craved the knowledge that the man hid in his mind palace. He would never cease to be the mystery that dooms any seekers to eternal damnation.

'Ah, such beautiful thoughts.'

I looked back to his face and saw him staring at me with those ever critical pair of eyes of his. It didn't leave me nervous. It left me a bit excited and plot my way into his mind and soak in all its mysteries.

"I'll wait in the hall, then," I announced in the strongest voice I could manage. To my surprise, I heard no signs of the excitement I felt.

"No, wait up. You need to help me move all the things we need for the meeting." His invitation made little to no sense to me. I went along, knowing that he would instruct me to do exactly as he wished, anyways. I followed him into his room.

I hoped that my curiosity wouldn't get the best of me and I won't snoop around when I got the chance. But I don't think it would be of any use. They do say that curiosity killed the cat. Being a kitten left me in a worse position.

'Did I just acknowledge the nickname he torments me with?'

'Yes, I believe I did.'

'Damn you, Anthony.'

'Fuck.'

'Concentrate!'

'Okay, then.'

I stopped with the internal musings and found myself standing in the center of the room I had barged into the first night I went to Poseidon's Realm. It had been in the wee hours of the morning, and I had been so pissed that I hadn't taken a look around the place.

The room was huge; it was fit for the master of the house. The walls were a flurry of abstract strokes of silver and gold. One side of the room was occupied with sliding doors that were made of textured glass.

I assumed that it was the closet as that was where Anthony was headed for. He opened the door and entered, making me realize that he was in nothing but a black towel.

I wanted to act scandalized, but then I got a glimpse of his legs. They were the legs of a killer. They were made to be used in combat. He closed the door behind him, leaving me staring at the hazy silhouette of his body. I could clearly make out what he was doing behind the translucent door. I saw him reach out for something and pulling it over his head. And then the towel slowly went down until it was on the floor. I jolted straight and looked away.

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Chapter end