eight (part two)
1072 Words
Marco POV
I'M EXHAUSTED. Still, I pack a bag, install the car seat I had Faustina buy(which was way more complicated than it should've been), and headed out to the coordinates Alessandro sent me.
I buckled Seraphina in, putting her pacifier in her mouth before she scream bloody murder.
Fear hung heavy on me, weighing my chest down.
Anxious, I call Alessandro.
"I'm on my way. I'll be there in a few minutes. What is happening?"
His answer is deafened by the haunted screams and distant sirens approaching.
"Get here soon. We need to contain her before the cops come."
"And how do you expect me to do that again?"
A particularly loud wail of sorrow threatens to swallow me as it drifts through the sound waves.
I cringe in pain.
"She calms down slightly when I say your name. I figure your an anchor person for her. So if you are here..."
"I should be able to help her. Is that what you're saying?"
"It's worth a... Shot."
I park the car, getting out. Walking up to his truck, I smack his head through the open window.
"That's not funny, idiota."
(i***t)
Ignoring his scowl, I tell him to watch Seraphina.
"But she doesn't like me!"
"Yeah well, I don't like you either, but I got over it. Now go!"
He grumbles, but moves along as ordered.
Taking a deep breath, I push it out slowly.
It's do or die.
Quite literally, as it turns out.
[·]
SHIVERS DANCE ALONG my spine, chilling me.
"Don't touch me! Stop!"
Approaching carefully, I enter the sparsely lit alleyway.
Wide, crazed orbs of violet entrap me in their depths.
Her hands swing toward me, putting distance between us with the barrel of her gun.
Up go my hands, slowly. She watches their every movement, jolting the gun with every twitch of fingers.
It's a painstaking process.
"Ciao Fatina," I figure I can set myself apart from any and every one else she may know.
Because I born in Italia, I have a very thick accent, so much so that I have to be careful, otherwise Americans do not understand me.
Also, I'm most likely the only person who calls her Fatina.
She doesn't answer me, but the tremble in her hands let's me know she's not as certain that I am going to hurt her as she was when I got here.
That's progress.
"Y'know, this is the second time today you've held me at gun point and I gotta say," I shrug slightly, "I don't appreciate it very much."
"Do I know you?"
"Well this whole situation would be extremely rude otherwise, don't you agree Fatina?"
She lurches forward slightly uncertainty dictating her body language.
"Don't call me that."
"I've called you that since the day I met you. Which was like, eh...yesterday?"
The click of the safety echos throughout the empty alleyway.
"You're wasting my time."
"Okay," I coax, "okay, I'll get straight to the point. I need you come with me,"
Her brow dips, her eyes turn feral and I realize I made a bad word choice.
Sweat drips from my forehead, as I lick lips, trying to keep calm.
"I am Marco, remember? I helped you when you got into a crash a couple days ago,"
Though suspicion still runs deep, I think I'm getting somewhere.
"What about you?"
"Well, last night you left Seraphina with me. I sent my cousin to find you, because I was worried."
Her head c***s left, honey brown hair drifting over her shoulder.
"You were worried about me?" It's so ironic, because she has this childlike wonder in her voice and her eyes, yet she still wouldn't put that gun down.
I nod, smiling softly. "Sì. I was worried about you, Fatina."
"Why?"
"Because, you are mia amica, my friend and I care about you."
She seems to think about this long and hard. Glancing at me warily, she steps forward.
Several beats are missing from the rhythm of my heart as she gets closer.
Tremors pass through me as she stands right in front of me, her shaking hand reaching out to touch me.
Her hand cups my cheek, making me lean into her touch. My eyes fly closed, my finger twitching with the need to wrap themselves around her waist.
Knowing it wouldn't be a wise course of action, I settle for rubbing my cheek against her soft hand.
Breathing doesn't come easy, in that moment.
"Marco?" Her tear filled voice, forces my eyes open.
"Yes, my little Fairy?"
"Please help me," she whispers desperately, "Please stop him."
"I don't know how---"
"He won't leave me alone! I can't--" She fists her hear, yanking it back harshly, a manic smile on her face as she laughs breathily.
"He wo--I can't-- He won't stop talking," she whispers madly, switching between a smile and a frown.
"He won't stop mocking me. And I know he's not real, I killed him,"
Her tone and facial expression is beseeching, as if she's trying to make me understand, make me believe she killed him.
"I killed him and he--h-he still there. In my mind. Making me relive everything he did to me. I don't know what to do,"
"What more can you do to a man than kill him?!"
"His voice won't leave my head. Stop him Marco, please."
"I can feel myself giving up. I can feel him winning, please..."
I've never felt so powerless than right now, watching her drop her to the ground and sob unconsolably.
I sink down with her, drawing her close to me.
"Do you like to sing?"
She sniffles, hiccuping and shrugs.
"Well how bout we try to sing over him? Okay?"
She nods, smiling shakily.
"It's not simple to say
That most days I don't recognize me," her voice is sweet, even though she's crying.
"That these shoes and this apron
That place and its patrons
Have taken more than I gave them,"
I draw her closer and rock her as her voice gets stronger.
"It's not easy to know
I'm not anything like I used be, although it's true
I was never attention's sweet center
I still remember that girl,"
I pull out my phone, look up the lyrics, and sing with her.
"She's imperfect, but she tries
She is good, but she lies
She is hard on herself
She is broken and won't ask for help..."
- Writer
