Wild One

Eighteen

Manon

My body explodes in pain. My mind erupts in fireworks. He's right. I know he's right. I wish he wasn't.

“I'll see you around Manon. Think about what I said.”

I sink to the floor, as the door shuts. My mind cracking. My heart flooding. Too much truth. My veins course with ice.

He's right. He's right.

I am getting closer to the devil on my shoulder. Now it's up to me: do I try to escape him, or do I take a walk on the dark side?

***

I couldn't sleep that night. My phone pinged.

Meet me at this address tommorow at twelve.

I sigh, turning my phone over. What do I do? He's right. I want him to ruin me. I want him to save me from this strong need to be perfect.

He's so wrong, I couldn't even dream of being right with him.

Savior, sinner, he's both. He'd taint me beyond my wildest dreams, but would the pain be worth it?

When he inevitably tires of me, when his poison is so potent, so widespread in my veins that my innocence dies, and he moves on?

I make the choice to see him. Just this once.

Just this once.

***

I put on some leather pants, a white collared shirt, a black blazer and some heels. I follow the GPS and step out of the card my belly in knots.

Here we go. I breathe in and out trying to calm my nerves. I step inside the small but prestigious restaurant, scanning the room for him.

The Maitre D, smiled kindly at me.

“Do you have a reservation?"

“I do, I'm with Niccoló Vitale?”

Her face loses some color. “Let me escort you to your table ma'am. Mr. Vitale is waiting for you.”

I follow her, all the way to the back of the restaurant, in a back room.

I try to breathe. There he is. As usual clad in a perfectly tailored black suit, a red bowtie.

“Manon," He stands when he sees me, pecking my cheek, his lips lingering. I shiver at the sensation of his cool breath on my skin.

“Niccoló," I greet him, my voice trembling.

He smirks, obvious noticing. Then, he pulls out my chair, motioning for me to sit. I do, thanking him.

He pushes my chair in, sitting on the opposite side of me.

“Would you all like to order?”

I smile at her. I like this lady.

“Not yet, come back in about ten minutes," Niccoló dismissed her.

She nodded, silently leaving.

Niccoló's gaze is glued on me, his silent appraisal making bugs crawl under my skin.

“What is your dream," I ask abruptly.

“I don't have one," He answers coolly. “Yours?"

“Dreams are a curse," I answer honestly. “Wake up, you're alive.”

His stare is intense as I say these words.

“Interesting take on dreams. Tell me, how dark are your dreams when you dare to dream them?”

How does he do this? Why does he do this?

I clear my throat. “Let's order.”

A grin spreads over his face. A knowing, devilish grin. It's almost like he knows I owe him my soul, and he can't wait to spoil the surprise.

“What do you want, pulcino?"

I look over the menu. It's actually in English this time.

“Lasagna and Tiramisu.”

He nods. “You still like Tiramisu then, sí?”

“Yes well, it's good."

He says nothing else.

***

He walks me home. We walk side by side, wordless, as the summer sounds fill the air.

When we get to my doorstep, I unlock the door, then just stand there. I don't dare invite him in, and he doesn't look like he wants to either.

“Well, thank you. I had a nice time, Niccoló.”

His pink tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip.

“I'm glad," Is his husky response.

We stand there in awkward silence, a little while longer.

“Okay then—” I turn to go inside, but his hand clamps down own my arm, stopping me.

“Wait!” he spins me around, pressing me against the door, pressing his lips to mine firmly.

I'm thrown in the fray, my mind hazy. He pulls away slightly, panting, breath mingling with mine. My hands itch to touch him. Lips lingering on mine he pulls his face away completely.

“I'll be seeing you soon, pulcino."

I watch him stalk away, hands in his pockets. When he's disappeared from view, I shut and lock the door, sliding down the wood slab.

Timidly, my fingers reach up and brush my lips.

What was that?