Aaron's POV
Alessandro places the bottle of tequila on the bar counter.
Its dark,rich color glistens under the moody club lights.
He lines up two shot glasses,each one spotless.
"This is our house special,"he says,his smile a little softer now,less like a business transaction and more like a quiet warning."It's been known to get the job done,whatever the job is."
He's still trying to get me to talk.
He's trying to be a friend,but he doesn't understand.I don't want to talk.
I don't want to face it.Talking about my problems won't make them go away.
It'll just make them real.And if I acknowledge how bad I've been,how selfish,how completely messed up,then I can't pretend it was all just a misunderstanding.
I can't keep telling myself I'm not really a bad guy.
He
