A week has passed since Camila's kill. It rained that night, discarding all her footsteps and letting the earth drown the rabbit's blood. When she arrived home, she placed the rabbit in the freezer hoping that Marie’s fear of dark places would rid her of any curiosity about the place. As she lays on the leather couch, its body freezes in the basement waiting for her stomach to rumble. Marie is beside her, hugging her legs, while a black-and-white film plays.

“Do you ever feel guilty about...it?” Marie murmurs in a soft tone.

Camila cocks her head in Marie's direction, “About what?”

“Wanting to kill a person?” Marie does not look at her and lets her chin fall on her knees.

Camila turns about from her, unable to reply to her. She had felt guilty about her first kill, horrified even, despite it not being her fault. She had woken up in the middle of the woods after a party, with two circular puncture wounds on her collarbone, and an unreliable hunger for meat and blood. There was no energy inside her body so she crawled to the road until a poor middle-aged woman stopped her trunk and tried to help her.

She hasn’t killed a human since then, only turning to nearby animals like some sleazy serial killer gaining the confidence to kill a human. Yet, the insatiable lust for blood and human skin still lurk under her gums. She isn’t innocent or a creature that deserves to live, that she is aware of. If she were to die, whether killed by her own hands or her sisters, she’d accept her fate.

“Someone’s here,” Camila murmurs with a sigh, catching the soft footsteps of a guest on their wooden porch.

“Who?”

She takes a deep breath and smells spice mixed with tobacco and wood. “Nico…from the club.”

When Camila's words roll off her tongue, Marie lunges from the couch to the door, opening it before Nico’s knuckle hits their door. She greets him with a wide smile, and a hand on her hip. “Hi.”

Camila turns off her hearing, giving them some sort of privacy that she's sure Marie wants. They enter the living room and Marie leaves, dashing upstairs with the widest grin.

“Hey Nico,” Camila calls out from the couch and receives a smile from Nico, who sits on the sofa and nudges her shoulder.

“Hey. Any plans for today, apart from…”, his voice trails off as he looks around the living room, “rotting in this...house.”

Camila snorts at his comment, “I enjoy rotting on this sofa. It is comforting.”

He chuckles at her comment, watching as Marie comes down, she’s wearing a flowy olive-green dress that reaches her ankles and green kitten heels with a pink butterfly on the front. Nico's heart stutters for a second when he sees her. She looks at Camilla, who gives her a nod of approval.

She reaches the sofa and laces her arms with his, pulling him off the couch, “I’ll be late tonight.”

Camila stayed still, staring at the TV for a long time until the sun dimmed enough that the sky was grey with angry clouds. She considered staying inside, unmoving until Marie arrived home, but when the TV turned off and she saw her sad reflection, she grimaced. She looked pathetic. She quickly changed into a long black dress with small red flower patterns, and black combat boots. Her long black hair flows freely in the wind, as she drives inside the city, arriving at the small garden dubbed the “The Vista Arboretum.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The garden feels dead, with an empty parking lot and a nonexistent line. Camila wanders inside, drifting to the furthest part of the garden which shows a variety of colorful plants, within and out of reach. The garden lights make the small ponds in the garden appear darker than they were yet make the small lily pads seem more beautiful than before. She looms over the pond, inspecting it with her vision to see if she can make out small tadpoles, or frogs to leap on it.

The hair behind her neck begins to stand during her curious pond inspection. She feels eyes peering into the back of her neck, examining her back. She sniffs the air, trying to dissect the different scents looming around her. Yet, she only smells the sweet scent of pollen and citrus. She bites her curiosity and whips her head around inspecting her surroundings. Camilla stops when she meets a pair of brown eyes.

Yohan.

Neither moves, but she suspects he is inspecting her as if trying to assess whether she's truly Camila or if the night is playing tricks on his vision. He takes a step, and she stays still. When Yohan registers that the woman in front of him is truly Camila, a smile breaks out on his face. He strides towards her, with his hands inside his pocket. She observes him, her gums itching at the sight of his neck. Yohan is wearing loose black trousers, a tight black wool shirt, and a long wool coat that reaches his ankles.

“Camila.”

The comment catches her off-guard enough that she takes a step back, her foot almost landing inside the pond.

Camila.

He simply said her name, but his voice was low enough that her stomach began to boil.

“Yohan,” She responds as he appears in front of her, mere inches away from her. The sound of his name on her lips feels rather intimate but she pushes those thoughts away and greets him as if he was just any other person.

Yohan stands still in front of her, his wool coat moving along with the wind, “What are you doing here?” he asks, taking in her appearance.

She considers her words, thinking of a variety of lies and reasons. “The gallery.”

Her idiotic answer makes her eye twitch, but she calms down when she hears a chuckle from Yohan. It is not a patronizing laugh, but rather an amused one. He points to the white building that looks grey in the night. “Have seen the new exhibition?’

She smiles at him, “No. I always leave it till the end.”

He hums, “Like a reward?”

She rapidly nods and walks to his side, cold heart thumping hastily. Yohan catches her action and turns then begins walking along her side with his hands behind his back. The night is silent, save for the cicadas, and the quiet footsteps of those who pass them which become less and less as they walk towards the poisonous arrays of plants.

“This museum is one of the fourth oldest museums with the rarest plants found in New Orleans,” utters Yohan.

The random fact catches Camila off-guard who looks at him and laughs. The laugh comes from deep inside her stomach, one that she hasn’t felt in months. Yohan’s eyebrows rise, and she’s sure that he’s questioning whether Camila is laughing at him or about the fact that he uttered without a thought. Yet, a small glint passes through Yohan’s eyes and his lips curl at her laugh.

“That is such a random thing to know,” She replies with a sigh, a wide smile still on her lips. “Do you have any else that you’d like to share?”

Upon her question, Yohan begins spewing facts and names that she stores in her head, simply nodding while she watches his hands flap and turn. Yohan falls into a rhythm nodding from one plant to another. “You sound like a botanist,” Camila states.

Yohan’s jaw clenches and she notices his heart skip a beat, “It’s a…hobby. My mother was the real botanist.”

Camila stays quiet, unsure of what to say until he speaks for both, a light smile on his face but when she listens closely to his heart, she notes worry and anxiety. She stops, looking into Yohan’s eyes just watching him, as he watches her with a perplexed expression.

“My mother used to collect paintings. She…used to place them in our dining room. She never painted, just collected. All of them were of birds, like the one in your office.”

She can hear his heartbeat rapidly, but he smells of calmness. No more anxiety, just relief. His eyes are soft as if understanding her careful words. Camila falls next to him, and they begin walking in silence. A secret silently exchanged in front of the small white poppies that flow with the wind.

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