He had watched her for years. Always hiding in plain sight or finding sanctuary in the shadows. He was always a step behind her watching her journey of life. Always willing to catch her should she ever fall. She was ravishing to him. An angelic angel to his world-weary eyes. She had grown from a panic-stricken terrified teen to a strong and confident young woman. If he lived another two hundred years he'd never understand why that stupid runt picked that red-headed crazy bitch over the goddess he was watching now. She was painting again singing along to a song as she stood in front of her canvas. He could tell the painting was almost done. He knew he'd receive a call from the gallery owner soon to let him know she had a new painting by his favorite artist. And like he'd done for the last four and a half years he would buy it and put it somewhere in his home. He tried not to watch her like this in her private moments in her apartment. Tonight though the ghosts from the past crept in on him. That familiar pain of loss so deep it felt like his soul was cracking consumed him again. The grief washed over him like a physical pain as he opened his door to his empty home. She wasn't there, wasn't there to make sure he didn't fall apart. The one and only person he'd ever let see him in his weak moments was gone. He was slipping he knew it. The red was creeping back into his vision. The wild buzzing in his mind and the need to hunt was consuming him more and more with each passing day. The man always struggling with the animal. He knew he was losing the battle and that thought terrified him. He couldn't go back; the animal was a killer it thrived on the blood and pain. The carnage the beast craved was a heady drug. He knew if he ever got a hit of it again the earth would suffer and heaven would burn. So he was fighting it hard, but it was becoming a daily battle to keep the man in charge. He had promised her before she died he'd try to stay sane. He could still smell her blood on him after all the years, it was still fresh in his mind. He could still feel her body go limp in his arms. He couldn't stop the tears as the life they created died with her. His anguished roar shook the ground under his feet.
So he found himself on top of that building again just watching her paint. It relaxed him just to see her. Birdy always told him he'd have to talk to her one day. But what could he say to her? "Hay, sorry for what I did to you when you were a teenager. I'm almost completely sane now and I'm in love with you. Yeah that would go over really well." He thought to himself. He never really understood why Birdy wasn't jealous of his obsession with the girl, but she never was. There were only two people in the world Victor Creed cared about. One he had loved and lost and the other didn't even know he was still alive. He knew he could never have her he was the monster waiting in the shadows. She was pure, the good in the world that created beauty with every brush stroke. She was everything he was not. A goddess only to be seen from afar. What he would give to touch her soft skin, to smell her sweet lushes scent without the stench of fear tainting it. He closed his eyes to his own thoughts. He knew it was wrong to want her in his life. He wasn't good enough. He wasn't good for Birdy and he's not good enough for the goddess that brings his tortured mind a small measure of peace simply by watching her.
He had made up his mind; he'd call his lawyer in the morning. Get the ball rolling on the paper work. He'd find the peace he was looking for and his Goddess The Rogue would never have to worry about anything ever again. It was the perfect plan in his own mind.