Wild One

Thirty-Six

Niccoló

I will admit: Charlie caught me by surprise. Not enough that he was able to do lasting harm, but enough that he did some damage.

We ride back home, in solemn silence. Manon is looking out the window. I expecting her to be full of questions, but she's just...sitting there.

Is she tramatized?

I imagine so. But it's not a tramatized silence that greets me. It's cold.

Almost...knowing.

As we pull up into her apartment, I hurry to get out, and help her to her apartment. I'll have to stay here with her. God knows she'll try to work tommorow morning.

I get her into her apartment, where she still doesn't speak.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She shoots me a cold look. "No."

Well...that's a straightforward answer.

"Is there anything you need?"

"You planned this, didn't you?"

Huh. "Do I look like I planned this?"

I motion to the bruises and the cuts on my face.

She looks away. "I'm sure you have work to do."

I start searching for something to engage her.

Pickup lines. Those always make her laugh. She thinks they're so cheesy.

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

"Well, it didn't feel f*****g pleasant." She spits.

Unusual. "Manon," I sigh.

"You did this, didn't you?" she insists.

I clench my jaw. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"And now you're gonna lie to my f*****g face about it, Niccoló. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Watch your language. And while you're at it, watch your f*****g tone,” I bristle.

She scoffs, standing unsteadily. I move to keep her upright but she pushes me away.

“I'm not 18 anymore. You're not my father.”

I squint. “I bet I could get you to call me daddy though,” I grin mischievously.

She doesn't take the bait, her mind stuck on this ridiculous idea that I planned this whole ordeal.

“It was too clean. Too calm. Too precise. I know Kaleb. He's none of those things. But you are.”

I go along with her outrageous nonsensical babbling.

“Right. So I had myself kidnapped. Then had you kidnapped. Because...”

“It serves some purpose,” She finished.

I laugh. “Okay. You've finally gone crazy baby. Let's sleep—”

“You could at least be honest. Tell me why.”

I debate it. Briefly.

“Let's not talk about this tonight. I'm stressed, your stressed. Let's just—”

“Until you tell me the truth, you can forget about us.”

I have to laugh at that. Us. Since when was there ever an us. Her naivete is peaking through.

There's that obsessed 18 year old girl I remember.

“Us? Do tell?” I mock her.

She scoffs. “Right. No, you're right. There isn't an is, is there? No. Well, missing accomplished.”

I freeze, watching her limp to her bedroom.

When it's obvious she's not gonna finish her sentence I prompt her.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I told you I was gonna break your heart. But, you don't have one. So, mission accomplished. You can leave.”

I...I can leave? She's dismissing me?

“Stop," I order her. She keeps going, hobbling into her room.

I close my eyes, breathing in and out, before putting on a smile.

“Baby, I get that you're mad. Let me help you—”

She raised an arm, stopping me in my tracks.

“I don't want your help. I don't want your presence. I want you to leave. Don't text me, don't call me. Don't come over. After all, we wouldn't want anyone thinking there's an us.”

I bite my lip, taking my anger out on the sensitive flesh.

“You're being immature,” I inform her.

“I'm making a decision. I don't want you anymore Niccoló.”

The world stops turning. It's stock still. Except those words. They bounce off every hard surface, crashing into my body, hurting more than any blow, any cut, any gun shot.

I don't want you anymore.

I don't want you anymore, Niccoló.

I don't want you anymore.

I want to shout. I want to yell. I want to demand she take that back.

I want to kiss her. I want to shoot her.

“Get some rest,” I say instead. “I'll be back tommorow, when you're in a better frame of mind.”

“Don't bother. I won't let you in.”

And somehow, I know she means more than the door.