Matthew

Author’s Note: I made the mistake of writing this chapter backward, so it took a bit longer than usual. I started with the last line and went up from there, which screwed me up a couple of times but it was a fun new experience! Enjoy!

 

I’d worked at Mr. Moreau’s pub long enough to be entrusted with the location of the spare key. Of course he probably didn’t think I’d use it to turn the place into my personal hotel room for a night. Not that I thought he’d mind. Just to feel less guilty though, I used the time by cleaning tables and floors.

I never kept pills in my locker at work, not wanting to risk the chance of being caught or discovered, but I regretted it when I realized I couldn’t shake off Vincenzo’s touch. His brief flash of bare flesh coupled with his embrace in the middle of the night… well, my mind was running wild. Not even work could help deter the thoughts.

I opened up shop per usual, around 8:05, without a wink of sleep. Since I misplaced my own uniform at home, I borrowed another employee’s that wasn’t on shift. Basic routine was about to lead me behind the bar when Ashley slipped in through the front door, all but soaked from the morning rain.

“Hey…” I greeted her awkwardly.

She shot me an icy glare, one I knew I deserved after the way I treated her the day before. But she opened up a small window of hope when she extended the courtesy of responding to me. “Hi.”

“About yesterday,” I began, only to have my friend blatantly ignore me in a charge to the backroom. I followed her, abandoning the bar to mold into her shadow.

“This is the girl’s locker room,” she hissed as soon as I entered the room.

“Ashley, I’m sorry,” I blurted. She paused with one hand on her locker, the other on her scarf, glaring at the back of her own knuckles. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I just… I didn’t want him to hear all those stuff about me and I snapped. I’m sorry. I really am. Forgive me. Please? Pretty please?” Four years ago I wouldn’t have been caught dead saying sorry and please so many times in one week, much less one conversation, nor standing in the middle of a locker room begging for someone’s forgiveness. Then again, four years ago I didn’t have any friends. “Ashley?”

“I get it,” she mumbled, wiggling her locker open. “You were angry and said stuff you didn’t mean, fine. But why didn’t you pick up any of my calls afterward?”

I blinked, tilting my head to the side in confusion. “Ah,” my breath left in a soft puff, taking out the tension in my muscles with it. Is that what she was mad about? “I forgot my phone here. I think it’s still in my locker.”

She removed her scarf, stuffing it into the locker in front of her before rotating to face me. “Really?”

“Really,” I repeated, easing up a bit more. “I know you hate people dodging your calls, Ashley. I’d never do that to you. I actually wanted to call earlier and apologize, but I figured groveling would work better if you could actually see me on my knees.”

She cracked a little smile, swaying a bit to lean against the metal surface stacked beside her. “But you’re not on your knees.”

“I was hoping you’d overlook that part,” I joked, mimicking her smile. While she watched, I grabbed at one of the benches for support and started to lower myself. She immediately released a soft laugh, racing forward to stop me before my knees touched the ground.

“Okay, okay. You’re off the hook,” she paused, wrinkling her nose into her face in a sour expression. “This time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” I hoped.

“But why didn’t you want that Mario guy to know those stuff about you? It’s not like a secret… everyone knows the stuff you avoid.” She bit into her lip thoughtfully, chewing at the flesh a moment before resuming. “Everything except sirens,” she added in a whisper.

I winced, taking a visible step away from her. “Let’s just say he’s… special.”

“Special how? Romantically?” she squeaked, already back to her bubbly personality. “Oh! Oh! Is he Mr. Pickles?”

I groaned, turning my head away from her at the mention of the muddled name I should never have uttered. Damnit. One drunken, stupid mistake and I had to pay for it every time romance came up in conversation with my friends. They couldn’t just drop it? Damn them. Damn me. Damn the Bourbon I wanted to taste so badly on Vincent’s 25th birthday. One sip and the memories of the past had felt so clear, so sweet, that I’d taken another, and another, never realizing the fuzzy world around me had more to do with the alcohol and less with my recollection of the past.

“No. He’s not Mister… Pickles… but he is someone that I want to keep appearances up with, okay? So help me out, would ya?” I forced a smile to my lips.

“I got your back,” she beamed.

With the crisis averted, I left Ashley to change into her uniform. Consequently, without her there to distract me, Vincenzo popped back into the front lobe of my brain. I felt his breath against my forehead, his fingers against my hair, and once again I ached for mind-numbing pills. Constant recollection of the half-naked Italian in my apartment turned remembering which soda to serve which table into a game of guess-and-check. Let’s just say I was lucky not to get my ass fired.

“You okay?” Ashley asked me on one occasion when I mixed Mountain Dew into a Shirley Temple instead of the desired Ginger Ale.

“Feeling a bit under the weather,” I whispered, and frankly it wasn’t a lie. “Sorry.”

“Do you need to go home early?” she asked, a genuine look of concern on her face.

“No,” I said a bit too quickly, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“How about drinks after work? I want you to meet my new boy,” she gave a careless giggle.

“I have to go somewhere tonight,” I whispered wearily, though when her smile began to fade I felt obligated to compromise. “But definitely next time,” I added, pushing a rehearsed smile to my face.

 

 

 

 

I stood outside my apartment with a frown, peering up at the window as my fingers twitched in my empty pockets. I’d forgotten my keychain at home in my haste to leave, which left me feeling rather insecure the entire day. Even after a few hours wasted at the pub, way after my shift finished, I didn’t feel any sort of confidence in entering the dwelling Vincenzo currently occupied.

Still, I couldn’t linger outside my own home like an unwanted stalker the entire night. With the cold already tingling my skin, I climbed the two small steps to my door, and to my surprise, found it unlocked. The knob turned quietly beneath my grip, letting the hinges creak as I stepped inside. At first I thought I’d entered the wrong apartment—this wasn’t the same place I’d stormed out of the night before, but sure enough the same company. Once I noticed Leah and Elena sitting at the coffee table, I let my eyes wander.

My usually bland walls and empty living area suddenly had color: mostly green and red. In an uncanny twist of a makeover, my home was lined with lights, wreathes, ribbons, and a quaint little Christmas tree fully decorated in one corner. Little boxes, covered in extravagant wrapping paper and ribbons, dotted the base of the tree in a charming half-circle. There was only one culprit I could think of, and sure enough my eyes returned to Leah.

“You—“

Just as I was about to accuse a nine-year-old of wrecking my apartment with unnecessary holiday cheer, a shadow loomed out of the kitchen. The moment my eyes locked onto his, a cold dread washed over me. There was no grin on his face, no tranquil peace, and as he approached me I felt my muscles tense in anticipation of physical pain. The anger was simply too livid to overlook.

Already in flight mode, I took deliberate steps back, countering his movement forward by distancing myself from him. My feet led me to a corner, until my back brushed against the wall and my hand instinctively moved towards the doorknob. He didn’t hesitate, regardless of the fear that must have been present in my expression; his hands stretched out, grabbing at the sides of my coat before he flung the zipper open to bare my attire. I sucked in my breath, flattening myself against the hard surface as his fingers dashed into the bubble of warmth my clothing had created. Both hands patted at my hips, sending a jolt of shock through my body that punted my heart into its own little dimension of frequency.

And then his hands were gone, having already fetched what he was originally looking for. He jerked my cell phone free of my jean pocket, rotating it in his palm with that glare still present on his face. A few jabs of his finger and a quiet chime echoed from the other side of the room, a ringing that finally encouraged me to blink. But I didn’t move until Vincenzo jammed my phone back into my chest, letting me catch it as he turned to stomp back into the kitchen.

I slowly swallowed, looking from the doorway to the two females sitting quietly in the middle of my living room. What the fuck just happened?

“You didn’t come home last night,” Elena began, a coy smile on her lips. “We were worried about you.”

My gaze fell to the lit screen of my phone, where a series of numbers winked up at me in blunt white text. It took me a minute to link the new phone number to the ringing from the kitchen. “Ah,” I whispered, exhaling as my muscles finally relaxed. “Sorry, I should have called.”

“We’re just glad you’re safe,” she said calmly, not looking ‘worried’ in the least.

I ignored her vague use of 'we' as I bent to slowly remove my shoes, using the extra time to get my heart to slow down. Banging from the kitchen caused small jumps in my fingers, alarming the runaway in me. Every sound seemed deliberately louder than the last. Overstepping a string of colorful lights on the floor, I bypassed the tree to approach my laptop and books. Thankfully my computer had been shut off, but my notes hadn’t been touched. I brushed a few leafs of paper aside to find my keychain sitting peacefully on the surface of the table, snuggled against the spine of a book.

My fingers gingerly scooped the prized possession up, replacing it back into a safe environment within my pocket. I let my eyes wander up to the two sitting on the floor, beside the coffee table, like my home was somehow missing the comfort of couches. I frowned softly as I approached them, and out of pure obligation found myself joining them on the floor.

“Have you had dinner yet?” Elena asked casually, no real curiosity in her voice. She was merely being polite.

“Not hungry,” I whispered. My attention was already wavering towards Leah, to a printed outline of Santa Clause she quietly colored in her corner of the table. “What’s with the Christmas… stuff?”

Vincenzo came out then, holding a tray of cookies that promised to be fresh from the smell of them. I swayed back with understandable tension, growing more and more uncomfortable with his presence. Thankfully he didn’t sit beside me, instead taking up the left side of the table all by his lonesome. The tray came down in a harsh clatter, causing a jolt out of both Leah and my body. Didn’t take much to see he was still pissed.

“Tsk,” Elena gave a click of her tongue, throwing the fuming Italian a glare before following up with a sidelong glance towards the kid. Vincenzo’s face softened when he followed her gaze, and just like that the beast was tamed. “To answer your question, Matthew, we thought we’d make your home a bit more festive. You don’t mind, do you?”

I did. I minded a lot, though from her tone I could already tell my answer didn’t matter. Further more, Leah was already answering for me. “He doesn’t like Christmas,” she stated plainly.

“Have a cookie,” Elena said quickly, and as she spoke her hand swiped up a cookie to swing it to the side. I jerked back, away from the swift action that resulted in unwanted sweets in Vincenzo’s mouth. He was already glaring at me, and if he hadn’t been muffled by the food I didn’t doubt an insult would have slipped free. I winced at the growl that came, the glare that continued as he angrily chewed to free his mouth. “Everyone likes Christmas, sweetie. Matthew here just doesn’t like spending it alone, but now that we’re here he’s very happy. Right, Matthew?”

I hesitated when her gaze settled on me, but the same power that compelled Vincenzo to play along soon enough hooked its claws into my skin. “Ah, yeah,” I mumbled, looking down at Leah’s bright blue eyes before I offered a nod. “Sure.”

“Now, let’s all try to enjoy our night together. What would you like to do, Leah? Watch a Christmas movie? Play a game? Or are you feeling tired?” As she spoke, Elena extended one hand, gently running her fingers through the young blonde’s hair. I suddenly felt awkward in their presence, like I didn’t belong, like I should have been cast out long time ago. Sure, they were in my home, but the obvious connection between them expelled me out of the invisible box. I really wasn’t part of their world.

Leah shrugged, ignoring the motherly touch to focus on her drawing. She didn’t seem to care either way.

“Why don’t we open one of your presents?” Elena suggested. She had to momentarily twist away from the table to snatch one of the boxes beneath the tree, a rather long, rectangular green box that she placed in front of the kid. It easily blocked out my view of the Santa picture Leah furtively colored. At the sight of it, the little kid placed down her bright red marker and reached out to unravel the wrapping paper. I grinned when the board game soon came into view, once again taking me back to sweet memories in the past.

“Ugh,” Vincenzo grunted, glaring at the pink and blue box. He already knew what it meant. I didn’t catch on so quickly, not until Elena cleared the table of items to begin unfolding the playing board. “I’m going to—“

He never got to finish what he wanted to say, because sure enough the substitute mother hen cut him off. “Stay here and play a game with us. Wouldn’t you like that, Leah? If Uncle Vinny stayed?”

The stark blue eyes rolled up, silently moving to her ‘uncle’ before she gave a nod. My Italian instantly released a sigh of defeat, sinking back into his seat before he had a chance to leave it. It amused me how much power a nine-year-old had, but at the same time I hated that the power extended to me. I knew I’d be joining the game when little Leah reached out to give me a blue playing piece, sealing in my fate.

“I have homework,” I released in a quiet mumble. It wasn’t true though, I’d gone through enough homework to last me a while the night before.

“Always time for that later,” Vincenzo said gruffly, reaching out to clap his palm roughly against my back. I winced at the impact, a newly irritated look on my face. There was a clear If I have to do this, so do you built in his tone.

“Fine,” I sighed, reaching up to smack his hand away. I didn’t want him touching me, not so soon after the angry pat down that scared me half out of my skin.

We quietly settled into a game that no one seemed interested in, not even Leah, but Elena stubbornly kept up the pretense of joy. Everyone let the kid win, so the point went completely over my head. A few times I purposely knocked her pink plastic placeholder off the board, choosing to target her instead of hopping over her piece. And every time, Vincenzo gave me a glare in warning. I didn’t care; I didn’t want to play in the first place. In fact, I welcomed his sour attitude—it helped all the inappropriate thoughts in my head wither away. The more he glared and grumbled, the less I thought of him naked.

“Did you change your bandages?” he asked in a low tone, leaning past me to throw the dice. The plastic cubes smacked against the board and clattered backward, rolling into a five and a two.

“No,” I mumbled, ignoring the presence of my coffee-burn to glance towards Leah’s hands. I’d completely forgotten to buy band-aids, but sure enough she had a plain tan one wrapped around her finger instead of messy duct-tape. Good thing we had real adults around.

“It won’t heal well if you don’t take care of it,” he whispered.

“Why don’t you have another cookie?” I sighed, hinting that he should just shut up.

“Don’t be a wise-ass, Goomba.”

“I’m merely suggesting that you enjoy some sweets instead of lecturing me on the well-being of my own… being,” I paused, throwing him a small smile when I reached out to pick up the dice. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Doubt it. I have a feeling that stupidity was a good friend of yours when you were growing up.”

“Probably, because sometimes I mistakenly think you make sense.”

“It’s not a mistake, it’s the only time you’re not a complete idiot.”

“And yet every time you open your mouth I feel like I lose more brain cells.” I rolled a five, and grinning at my luck, moved my piece to a bonus square.

“And we all know how you can’t afford to lose any more of those,” Vincenzo growled dangerously, his volume rising.

“Exactly. So have another cookie.”

“How about I take that cookie and shove it up your a—“

“Can I talk to you?” Elena snapped. In one fluid movement, she stood, and without waiting for a response reached out to grab at Vincenzo’s arm. I rocked back, once again dodging contact as they moved to circle around me. With a few hushed curses, the two slipped out of the apartment.

My attention bounced to Leah when her fingers picked up the dice, rolling them in her palm a moment before releasing them on the board. She didn’t throw it though; she simply set them down in a peacefully fluid motion. I watched her with building curiosity, unsure what went through her little head. Why didn’t she cry anymore? Why didn’t she seem distressed or frightened? If anything, the kid seemed way too calm: especially for a nine-year-old in the middle of a foreign environment without her parents.

“Why does Uncle Vinny call you Goomba?” she asked softly, her volume so light that I almost missed the voice when it swept into the stillness of the air.

“Probably because I call him Mario,” I whispered in return. A mechanical smile pulled the corners of my lips back, wrinkling my face in a way that didn’t feel natural; but my motive was solely to return the peaceful mood after Vincenzo’s outburst. I didn’t think any more of my words.

“So that means you’re the bad guy?”

My smile immediately faded, replaced by a sense of shock that was surely visible. I stared at her dejectedly, unable to stop the goose bumps that ran from my neck to my back, along my arms, starting a trail of unsteady fire that frightened me. Her words meant nothing and yet everything. I didn’t know what to say.

“Can I be Princess Peach?” she continued, her voice dreadfully serious.

I could only exhale in response, my voice gone but my breath all too sharp. Leah spared a quiet shrug before picking up the dice again, this time tossing them so they granted her a nine. Her pink plastic piece moved quietly beneath her fingers, hopping over several colored boxes that blurred in my contorted vision. My breath hitched into a hysterical incidence. My head felt too light to be attached.

I didn’t want to be the bad guy.

The front door cracked open a minute later, allowing the two bodies back into the room that was quietly spinning for me. I blinked in time to see Vincenzo come back into my perspective, an identifiably pissed expression on his face. My lower lip quivered into my mouth as I tried to swallow my guilt away, but it built up until a tangible mass clogged my airway. “Sorry,” I blurted to my Italian, trying to clear my throat. My apology wasn’t for my insolence. It was for so much more. So much that I’d fucked up just by pretending I somehow mattered.

“Shut up,” he huffed, no longer sounding angry but avoiding my gaze as he waited for Elena to resume the game.

We played for another hour, the girls enjoying themselves while Vincenzo and I remained eerily quiet. I backed off my not-so-subtle assault so Leah won in the end, predictably, and was rewarded with a high-five before Elena whisked her off to bed. As soon as the bedroom door closed, a hand flew up from my left and smacked me upside the head.

“Hey!” I yelped in protest, reaching up to cradle my skull. “What the hell!”

“Watch your mouth around Leah,” Vincenzo growled, “I don’t want her influenced by your bad attitude.”

“My bad attitude? Are you confused right now?” I scoffed.

“I’m serious. She’s going through a lot, your negativity isn’t helping.”

“You’re the one ready to curse and manhandle people in front of a little kid,” came my defense.

“I never said I was innocent,” he sighed softly. “I’d just rather keep her as content as possible, especially after…”

His voice trailed off, and when I glanced up to search his expression for answers he avoided my eye contact. My lips soon mimicked his sigh, bringing a weight back onto my chest as I swayed forward against the table. “Tip-toeing around her isn’t going to help,” I whispered. He quirked a brow, but didn’t look back at me. “You should just tell her that her mom’s dead.”

“Who said her mom was dead?” he snapped defensively. “She’s just… missing.”

“Doesn’t that translate to dead in gangster-speak?”

Before he could answer, the bedroom door opened again to allow Elena back into my Christmas-infested living room. I turned my head away from the white eye fixed on me, suddenly wishing that Vincenzo still wore that ridiculous leather mask that devoured half his face. As much as his scars transfixed me, they continuously reminded me of horrors I thought I’d left behind.

Elena disappeared into the kitchen while I packed up the board game, only to return a few seconds later with a very dreaded element. Alcohol. Her hands moved into my cone of vision with one visibly cold bottle of beer, set down in front of me with a destiny to be ignored. “You’re old enough to drink, right?” she grinned.

I sighed at the existence of alcohol in my home, but didn’t verbally protest. If they wanted to sip away at beer and pretend all was groovy, who was I to stop them? Not that I wanted to actually partake in the event. “I don’t like alcohol,” I paused, reevaluating my tone as Leah’s comment continued to haunt me. “But thank you.”

“I’ll take it,” Vincenzo volunteered, reaching out to snatch my beer before Elena could return it to the fridge. I shrugged when she threw me a challenging look. Not like I cared.

“So how have you been fairing in the land of fine wine and stinky cheese?” she smirked around the tip of her bottle, her thick lips stretching back to let the dark liquid visibly gush into her mouth.

“Dandy,” I sighed, blinking my eyes away from her to glance down at my hands. I swayed against the table, letting my body sink into a lazy slouch. Quietly, I dug out my cell phone from one pocket, fiddling with the screen while I tried to invent a reason why I needed to magically leave the apartment—or at least, the onslaught of small talk I could picture crawling up Elena’s throat. Sure enough, she didn’t disappoint.

“Must have been hard, living by yourself all this time,” she commented sympathetically.

“Nope,” I fired back. “It was great. Loved it. Never been happier. You guys need anything? I’m going to grab a soda.”

I immediately moved to act on my words, ready to disappear into the kitchen when that forbidden name sprang right into the air. “Don’t you want to hear about Asher?”

My joints locked up so quickly that I dropped my phone when my ass hit the floor. A harsh grunt slipped free of Vincenzo’s throat, easily displaying his distaste for the new subject as my eyes fluttered up to Elena’s face. She smiled back at me, like she’d just found the right toy to tempt the unruly kitten, before her lips stole another quick sip of beer.

“Why would I want to do that?” My mouth already felt dry.

Truth was, I really did want to hear about Asher. I wanted to know how he was, what he was up to, if he still wanted to skin me alive or if his anger was lowered to a point that he’d just contract out. I wanted to know if his house was still blue and his garden still dead. I wanted to hear why he was a recluse, and if he felt lonely with all his close friends and personal goons dispersed throughout the world. Of course, I’d never admit to it. I’d never be courageous enough to ask.

“Just thought it might be something you’d be interested in…” her voice trailed off as she pulled out the white cell phone I remembered from four years ago, checking the screen. Somehow, it unnerved me that she still had it. “But if not, we could think of another subject. How about your job? Do you like working there?”

I dipped my fingers into my pocket, instinctively searching for my keychain while my mind momentarily wandered. “Yes,” I allowed. “What about your job? How do you like it?”

Her smile instantaneously doubled in length, taking on a slightly predatory factor, reminding me that she wasn’t an ordinary woman. Hello Cheshire cat. “Ah, yes,” she nodded, not backing down from my challenge. “My job. It’s in a category of it’s own, but I have come to enjoy it nevertheless.”

“It’s not exactly a joyful pastime,” I hissed, my gaze tightening into a glare.

“Not for everyone.”

I stiffened, my fingers reflexively digging into the table’s edge. “You’re right, not every kid grows up wanting to be a ruthless killer.”

“Hey,” Vincenzo piped in, his voice harsh enough to take my death glare off of Elena. “That’s not fair. Elena didn’t always want to be a ruthless killer,” he paused, a devilish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he leaned toward me. One hand rose, cupping against the side of his mouth while his volume morphed into a mock whisper. “She used to want to be a ballerina.”

His tactful bit of shared information did wonders in instantly altering the mood. I released a strangled laugh, a sound that barely escaped before I halted its release with a slap of my palm against my mouth. Elena’s expression suddenly darkened, her eyebrows furrowing down as she tipped her bottle forward. The clink of glass on wood resonated a small tremble across the surface of my coffee table. “I’ll have you know I had great talent in my teenage years,” she said.

“Mhmm,” my Italian nodded. “You rocked that tutu.”

The image of Elena in a pink tutu, holding an oversized gun in one hand while she pranced across a stage brought another muffled chuckle from my lips. With Vincenzo’s grin encouraging me, I let the tension previously in my muscles melt into a sense of ease that inspired more laughs from my chest.

“Alright, magician man,” she retorted spitefully.

“Magician?” I gawked, my mouth falling open in shock. “You wanted to be a magician?”

“Shut up,” Vincenzo barked.

“He was such a cute little performer,” Elena teased, her smile quickly returning.

“You’re kidding,” I accused.

“Dead serious. He had the cape and everything.“

“Yeah, yeah,” my Italian growled. “Laugh it up. Just remember I can kick both of your asses.”

By the time Elena and I stopped snickering at his expense, Vincenzo had finished his first beer to move onto the second. He didn’t seem agitated by our amusement though; he merely maintained a good-natured smile on his face as he relaxed with the cold beverage in hand. I could picture him as a peaceful kid, never touched by scars or death or violence. I could picture him forever with that smile on his face, his expression gentle if not calm. I could picture him happy.

“Anyway,” Elena’s voice crawled forward to pluck me out of my self-emerged bubble. “I think I should get going.”

“You good to drive?” Vincenzo inquired.

She nodded, abandoning her bottle on the table to grab her jacket off the back of a nearby chair. I quietly watched as she fetched her shoes and headed out the door. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Did that mean she’d be visiting everyday? Where did she go at night? If she had a place to stay, why didn’t Vincenzo and Leah go with her? And if she didn’t, why not stay? My eyes moved back to the drinking goon beside me, his weight slanted back against the couch as he peered placidly at the Christmas tree. My curiosity was already getting the best of me, prompting me to ask so many personal questions that I knew would cross the line.

“Hey Goomba,” he called, never taking his eyes off the string of colored lights on the tree. “Get me another beer?”

“Sure,” I mumbled, snatching the opportunity when it came. It seemed a better alternative than staring at him like an obsessed freak. So I fetched the beer, as well as a glass of water for myself. Instead of returning to my seat, I took up the space on the other side of the coffee table, across from the man that now seemed to be staring off into space. Although I settled into his direct line of sight, his eye didn’t focus on me.

I took the opportunity to ogle the skewed masterpiece. Even in the dim lighting his scars were visible, but the colored Christmas lights added an extra edge by characterizing each spectrum of his face with a different hue. The caramel of his eye seemed almost a murky green, and the black of his hair held an unnecessary layer of faded orange. I admired the contrast of his skin against the turquoise of his sweater, which was the first time I realized that I’d ever seen him wear anything except dark colors. The decorations in my apartment suddenly felt like their sole existence was to frame the unruly beast in a cage of colors he wouldn’t have voluntarily stepped into. More than ever, I felt the need to touch.

His lips pursed lightly with a release of air, triggering a heaviness that quickly dropped his eyelids down. His body visibly relaxed, trembling backward against the couch as he tilted his head against the first cushion. “Go ahead and ask.” His voice was soft again, controlled, holding no real anger or agitation in it. He correctly picked up on my curiosity, but there was no way he could foresee the cause.

Not like I was going to tell him what was really on my mind.

Might as well pick a topic I knew I was supposed to be thinking about. “About this Carter guy…” I began, lowering my eyes to the beer in his hand. A drop of water beaded off the cold exterior of the bottle and slid down the curve of the neck, spiraling past his fingers to the bunched up fabric of his shirt. “Do I need to be worried about him?”

“I told you, you’re safe,” Vincenzo huffed, his voice a bit thicker than last he spoke.

“Not exactly what I meant. Is there anything I need to watch out for? Anything I should avoid?” I tried again.

“The cops,” he grinned, easily making me flinch. I was glad that his eyes were shut, but that didn’t seem to stop his spidey-senses from picking up on my discomfort. “Too soon?” he hummed with mild glee.

My eyes lowered to my hands in shame. It sucked that I felt more guilt than anger towards these people. I should have hated them. I should have wanted them completely out of my life—yet here I was, housing a criminal and his runaway cargo in my shabby little apartment. No matter how my brain strained itself to put the blame on someone else, the ball ended up bouncing back into my court. Every time I studied Vincenzo’s blind eye, I damned myself for leaving the boat. Every time I saw Leah’s innocent expression, I despised myself for involving the cops. I just never knew how much weight my actions carried; I was the butterfly that flapped its wings one too many times, and started tornadoes because of it.

“You should be fine going by your normal routine,” he continued casually, “Just don’t talk to any strangers, but I think you already know that.”

“You said he used extreme measures,” I hinted, “What happens if he finds her?”

“Then we’re all screwed.”

I glanced up to find both eyes open, brown and white, staring at me with only the glow of the Christmas lights there to highlight the curve of his face. Suddenly, all appreciation for the festive decorations flew out the window. His expression in the dim lighting seemed too ghostly, too void of hope, and I felt my mental defenses scramble to change the subject before the need for medication arose.

“Did you really want to be a magician?” my voice peeked, unsteady and insecure.

“Yup,” he grunted, keeping his gaze on me. “You?”

“Huh?” I picked my head up a bit more, rolling my shoulders back in a lame attempt to fix my posture. “When I was a kid? I always wanted to be a fireman, that or—“ My own words took me back in time, right to that little bench in the big garden, to the boyish smile next to me and the pale lips that claimed they wanted to know more. An overwhelming sense of unease hit me, clogging my throat before I could express my boyhood dream of becoming Batman. “Nothing that panned out,” I exhaled softly. “You still know any magic tricks?” I tried to smile.

“Yup,” he repeated, both eyes still watchful.

“Can you make things disappear?”

“No,” he murmured. “But I’m good at distracting the eye.”

He probably didn’t know how true that statement was; his face was already distracting me again. I had to move my hands out to grab my glass of water, anchoring my fingers down, to keep myself from doing anything stupid like reaching across the table to find out the tangibility of scars on his neck.

“That’s probably a handy skill in your line of work,” I joked. This time it was a bit easier to smile. “I bet Alrick and Ash—“ And again I fucked up. The forbidden name muted me. Every blast from the past was refreshing my memories of him, which was proving to be dangerous. Weary of Vincenzo’s lack of interest in a man I was dying to learn more about, I scrambled over my own words to correct the verbal mistake. “Ash… ley… really likes magic. You should show her one of your tricks next time you see her. Maybe pull a coin out of her ear?”

He stared back at me with a blank if not empty look, like he understood my reluctance to fully accept my own circumstances and even though he disagreed with my method, he couldn’t think of any other alternatives. I didn’t want to keep stumbling over my own words, so I fell silent in the absence of reason. My eyes leveled on the beer in Vincenzo’s grip, scanning the label in a show of reading it while my mind wandered. Fuck. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to remember. I tried to rein in my thoughts onto more trivial matters, focusing on colors and shapes instead of definitions until a numbness spread from my temples to my eyes.

I went over my schedule in my head; I needed a shower, maybe a shave. I had to set my alarm for the next morning, and grab a fresh batch of clothes from my room. Eating at home didn’t seem like a good idea, so maybe I’d grab something along the way. I could eat on the bus. Or eat at work. Rick wouldn’t mind whipping up a sandwich for me. It wouldn’t have to have any turkey. He didn’t need to make it in the kitchen with his shirt open or a grin on his lips while he tried to bribe me into drinking two bottles of water.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I correct my thought process? I needed my pills. I needed medication. I needed to make it stop before it consumed me.

“Don’t think about him.”

My eyes shot up to the man sitting across the table from me, his eyes half-lidded with the drowsiness only alcohol could surface. I told myself I didn’t know who or what he was talking about, but when his caramel eye once again bore into me it brought with it a sense of anxiety. I opened my mouth to break my silence, to deny all claim to his assumptions, and Vincenzo moved forward. His hand pushed the beer bottle aside, away from him as he shifted his weight onto his knees and his torso stretched across the width of the table.

And he smashed his lips against mine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note: Just curious… Do any of you hardcore fans have songs that remind you of Asher/Matthew/Vincenzo? The song ‘E.T’ by Katy Perry reminds me of Asher/Matty. Check it out if you get a chance!

 

Review Responses:

I had to remove these. D: They were too long. Sorry guys!