SPECTER [Ghost FanFiction 18+]

III| Crystal

[Ghost]

Emilia has been pacing around her room for almost three hours now. Soap and Price went to sleep after finishing up the dishes, and I stayed downstairs because I'm not tired.

If she keeps on walking around her room like that, she's going to cut a hole into the floor. Plus, the thuds are bothering me and I want to drink in silence. Just as I was about to open the door, she did so from inside.

Emilia glanced at the glass in my hand "Can I have one of those?" Her eyes looked up at me.

"Only if you say 'please'."

"Please," she immediately pleaded. She must be desperate for a drink — I would be too, considering her situation.

"Two ice cubes?" I asked, making my way back to the sofa.

Emilia nodded as she sat on the sofa to look out the window; I've never seen someone look so sad. It's kinda bringing down my mood, which is bothering me, but I don't want to wake up Price with a fight.

"Say when," I said, pouring bourbon into the glass — she better drink it all, it's Lagavulin.

Emilia hummed as she watched me pour.

My eyebrow arched as the liquor was reaching the rim "What—"

"When," she said once it reached the rim and I quickly stopped. "Perfect," she knelt in front of the coffee table to slurp the bourbon "mhh, good."

"I'm surprised you can say anything else than 'let go off me' or 'cunt'."

Emilia chuckled as she cleaned her mouth with the back of her hand "I'm a different person when I have a drink in my hand."

"That's not so princess-like."

She raised an eyebrow "I am not a princess."

"You're close enough," I said, watching as she raised the glass to her lips. I thought it would only be a sip, but she chugged down my expensive booze like it was a cheap beer.

"More," she placed her glass next to me.

"No."

Emilia just sighed and leaned back on the sofa "Who taught you how to cook pasta?" She asked.

"No one," I curtly replied — my business is only mine.

The woman just smiled, looking up at the ceiling. After a minute or two of silence, she looked at me "Do you have tattoos?"

I raised an eyebrow "Excuse me?"

"I do," she moved on with the conversation. "I mean, you look like the kind of guy who would have tattoos — even if I can't see much of you," her accent is so posh, it's sort of irritating.

I just kept silent, looking at her. I think she can carry on the conversation without my participation.

She deeply sighed and poked my knee with her finger and kept on doing it until I stopped her by gripping her wrist — firmly but not in a way that would hurt her.

"How often do you make people bleed?" She inquired with squinted eyes.

I smirked under the mask "Around three times a day."

"Did you fill yesterday's quota?"

"No, I only made you bleed yesterday."

Emilia giggled — seems like the booze is kicking in "What about piercings? Do you have piercings?"

My eyes flickered down to her wrist in my hand; it's small and bony, she has long beautiful fingers that are decorated with black long nails. She's wearing a Van Cleef diamond bracelet that's too big on her. What can I say? I know a thing or two about jewellery, and by what I saw in her closet, she likes jewellery.