four
1586 Words
Chapter 4: Fatal Attraction
M A R C O
I CAN'T CONTROL IT; the smile that erupts when she tells me to take her home.
I know she has nowhere to go. She seems like a superb liar, but I deal with liars all the time.
I'm excellent at it myself.
I have to be.
The streets of Chicago are flooded with people carrying on their day.
Rushing.
For a brief moment, I wonder how the world can keep going, keep turning.
How people can still leisurely drink coffee and eat scones.
How people can still laugh, and talk on amongst themselves as if nothing happened.
Didn't they feel it?
That tremor?
That ripple in the earth, right beneath their feet?
Didn't they hear the earth lament the breaking of an angel?
"Marco?" Angel's eyes were filled with amusement, "Did you forget where you live?"
I shake my head, smiling at her, "No, I know how to get home."
"Well get there." I shift my car drive, throwing her smirk.
"Aye-Aye, capitano."
Hours later...
"Thank you for your hospitality Marco,"
She grinned softly, her violet eyes softening in the same motion.
"Nessuno problema, mia fatina," My heart skips a beat.
(No problem, my little fairy)
Perfect name for her.
"Good night, Marco."
"Buono notte, fatina."
I watch as she slips behind the door of guest bedroom, retiring with one more lingering smile.
As soon I walk away, my body hums with activity, my mind whirling a million miles a minute.
In the midst of the whiling, swirling storm of thoughts one in particular, screamed above the fray.
I want her.
Like a prayer, my mind and heart murmured. I want her. I have to have her.
Lei è Il mio, I think, startled by the certainty in my mind.
(She is mine)
I lay in my bed, twisting and turning.I feel a pulsing in my body, making drums of my nerves. There's a tugging in my chest.
I want to hold her.
My arms feel empty, my stomach fills with lead. I try to get comfortable, going so far as to hold the pillow, but sleep wouldn't come.
"È Cazzate," I hiss to myself in outrage.
(This is bullsh*t)
I've known this woman for what? A day? Now I cannot sleep without her?
This is not like me.
I'm known for being cold. Never excessively cruel, I don't go out of my way to hurt people, but most know that I am not a man to be messed with.
Still, I'm a ruthless businessman, with a known violent streak.
That's why this is so puzzling.
I don't hit women, but I'm not the loving type. In fact, I don't like to deal with them at all if I don't have to.
Not even for a good tumble in the sheets. Patience is something I'm lacking, and woman is patience spelled backwards.
I can readily admit my talent for lying, but I don't make a hobby nor habit.
It takes too much effort to pretend to care about some ragazza to get in her pants.
Notwithstanding the sliminess of that strategy; It's too much work.
I don't do friends.
I don't do lovers.
I do me, and that's it.
The secret to success?
Focus on your own s**t.
It's really much simpler than it seems.
So why is it that from the day I met, she changed everything I stood for?
To her I am a kind man, but to anyone else...
What is it about her that makes me need her?
What makes my body
My heart
My soul call out to her?
I don't know.
But when I find it, I'll kill it.
[•]
BLOODSHOT EYES meet mine as I peer in the mirror.
Propelled by instinct, I was snatched out of my sleep at three am.
I'd just fallen asleep an hour ago.
A torturous groan spilled from my throat as I got up, and checked the guest room.
I'd never get any peace if I didn't.
My fingers gripped the porcelain sink, as I grit my teeth, rolling my head around trying to get peace as my body twitched.
I call her name, and when she doesn't answer, I figure she's a heavy sleeper.
So I creep closer to the breathing lump on the bed.
"Fuckin' genius," I mutter to myself, my breathing harsh, forming bubbles in chest before being forcefully expelled.
I whisper her name once more, before carefully peeling back the covers.
"A fu—frickin' humidifier. She escaped with a humidifier and my car."
There was a humidifier, puffing rhythmically. Around it was a body shaped pillow outline.
A ragged chuckle escapes me, one that could only be described as self-mocking. I'm so stupid.
A note lay on the nightstand.
I'm borrowing your car. Thank you, and I'm so sorry Marco. I've disabled the tracking, and I have no address.
With your resources, I'm sure you could find a way to locate me. But please, for both our sakes, don't.
I'm far more than you bargained for, and you're far more than I deserve.
Angel.
As calm as can be, I hurl the machine into the wall, and walk out.
Roaring in anger, I smash my fists into the mirror, shattering it, raining shards onto the floors.
Breathing heavily, I hang my head.
There, I think, a twisted satisfaction enveloping me, Now my hands feel almost as bad as the rest of me.
Faustina comes in quietly, sweeping up the glass.
I love that old lady. I call her that, but she looks young enough to be my aunt. She's been taken care of me since my mother died smuggling us out.
I feel a pang of guilt, seeing her wince as she bends down to sweep.
Why can't she just retire like I asked?
"I'll take care of it, Ms. Faustina," she refuses, shooing me away.
"Quiet boy. I've called Alessandro."
I sigh. Alessandro is the closest thing I have to a friend in this area. Luciano and Salvatore are much too far.
I've known them since we were piccoli ragazzi.
(Little boys)
"Grazie, Ms. Faustina."
She nods, exiting the room. The sudden solitude allows me to view my work of art.
Glancing around, I notice she's already done cleaning up the mess I childishly made.
I'm twenty seven, far too old for tantrums.
I'll have apologize later.
"If it isn't my estranged billionaire cousin!"
"Trillionaire, actually." I correct him with a smirk.
"I have a fifty billion dollar company and counting,"
Alessandro smirks back, his hazel eyes twinkling.
"Ah, sì!" He exclaims in faux excitement, "How could I forget? Perhaps because I never see you anymore?"
Another knife of guilt and self-hatred stabbed at my already shredded insides.
Behind his smirk, there is pain in his eyes. There is a bridge between us, and I can nearly see it crumbling.
"Anyway, what's got you all worked up, fratello?"
I stay silent. Just as my blood pressure when down too.
"È una donna?"
(Is it a woman?)
"Una Fatina," I mumble absentmindedly.
( A Little Fairy)
Since when did her nickname become a Pronoun? I think bitterly.
"Scusi? Una... fatina?" He looked at me skeptically.
(Excuse me? A...fairy?)
I realized how pazzo I sounded referring to her as a little Fairy.
(Crazy)
"Sì. Ho bisogno di lei. Ma, lei è andato. Ha lasciato,"
(Yes. I want her. But, she is gone. She left)
How pathetic do I sound moaning over a woman I just met?
Alessandro, looking concerned, dragged my sagging body off my bed where he threw me.
"Now tell me more about this missing mythical creature."
I explain, then I show him the note to read, because I don't want touch it, let alone read it.
He lay the paper down, looking up at me.
"Do you want me to find her?" He said softly.
I shake my head no.
"No need."
"But—!"
"She is telling me lies when the we both know the truth. She was just singing the words she knew I wanted to hear. She wants to go. Let her go."
I'm losing it. She's got me...she's got me in this hold. She has me on a leash and I don't even know where she is.
Alessandro gives me tequila, telling me to cheer up and make horrible decisions I'll regret in the morning.
He says plenty of women out there.
There's always been plenty of women out there.
That means nothing. Plenty of women aren't Fairy, so they mean nothing.
I stumble from the bar stool in my kitchen, making it(hardly) to the couch before slinking down into it.
Alessandro follows close behind. Too close behind in fact, because before my drunk mind could register it, we were sprawled on my floor.
"Alessandro?" I slurred.
"Sì?"
"Penso che mi sento. Fallo smettere. Fa male." A pathetic whimper leaves me, and I think how far from grace I have fell.
(I think I am feeling. Make it stop. It hurts)
"Vorrei poter. Ma è l'umano dentro di te."
(I wish I could. But it is the human within you.)
"Uccidilo." For some reason that drunken comment makes him sober up and look at me with a pity that makes me feel...
(Kill it)
Pathetic.
"Non uccidere mai la persona dentro di te, mio fratello."
(Never kill the person inside you, my brother.)
This is a fatal attraction. But for who will it be fatal?
Word count: 1,558
Edited: Thoroughly
Total Word Count: 3,893
- Writer
