Vince looks at me with hesitation. “What’s gotten into you? You aren’t usually like this.”
“Like what? Stubborn? Opinionated?” I ask. I know I’m pushing my boundaries. But I don’t care. I’m always on the outside with them. I have been for most of my life. I never ask for anything. This is the first and only request I've ever made.
“Look, I know you have your issues and all.” He talks in a hushed tone, and I fucking hate it. I hate how the entire family feels sympathy for me because of that shit with my mother. They talk about it behind my back. I know they do. But they fucking fear me, too. I’d rather have the fear than the sympathy any fucking day.
“My issues?” I ask, putting the beer down on the table and staring back at Vince like he’s going to have to spell it out.
I look back at him, and suddenly he’s not the Don. He’s one of the boys huddled around the broken, bloodied dumb fuck we were supposed to teach a lesson.
They all stare back at me. I can feel their eyes on me as I breathe heavily and try to calm myself. My shaking fists are dripping with his blood. He had it coming to him. They all know I’m fucked up. He should’ve known better than to push me.
“You alright, Anthony?” Tommy lays an unsteady hand on my shoulder. I look up at him and past him to see the other guys. They look nervous as fuck. Like they could be next. I’m not a savage. I can contain this. I do contain it. Every fucking day.
“Good job, Anthony.” Vince says as he looks between the dead fuck and me. “Pops is gonna be proud.” He says the words, but there’s more to it than that. I don’t know if it’s jealousy, or if he hates that he fears me.
That day I decided not to give a fuck about any of them. All of them except for Tommy. Tommy’s all I have.
That was the day they started giving me a little more space than normal. I had to push my humor onto them to loosen them up. But it wasn’t quite the same. Not with us doing jobs together. Thank fuck for Uncle Dante. He gave me the hits and the other shit I could do on my own. It was a release for me, but more than that, it saved me from being the social pariah. I always knew they felt that way about me. But having Vince say the words...fuck, it hurts to know it’s true.
“You know what I mean, Anthony.” He straightens his back and meets my gaze head on. I have to hand it to him, he deserves to be boss. But I can fucking smell his fear from here.
“I bought her, and now she’s mine. That’s what happened. End of story,” I say flatly.
“It’s not the end. You also agreed to one month, and that’s what they were told,” he says.
“I didn’t--” I start to answer, but he cuts me off.
“You did.” He says the words with finality. I never should’ve said it was his call. It pisses me off. I shouldn’t have trusted him. It wasn’t his decision to make.
“I have work to do, and I need to get home to check on her before bed.”
“Check on her?” he grunts a humorless laugh and it takes everything in me not to plant a fist on his jaw. I can hear Aunt Linda in the kitchen and the kids playing not twenty feet from us. I clench my fists at my side, but hold back. I finish the beer and grab my keys off the table.
Checking on her is my job. This isn’t about getting laid, it’s not about fucking her or using her, or demeaning her. That’s not what I want. This is more than that. It’s deeper than Vince could possibly know. It’s about having someone need me. And she does, whether Vince likes it or not.
“I mean it, Anthony,” he says to my back.
I don’t answer him. I still have time with her. It may be best that I don’t get too attached though. I close my eyes as I open the door and step out into the night.
The cold air whips against my skin. She’s in a cell for trying to get away from me, for fuck’s sake. I shake my head and feel torn. I thought this would be perfect, but it’s not.
I’m just damaged goods. That’s all I am.
Perfection doesn’t exist. Neither do fantasies.
Catherine
I wake to the faint hum of the lights being turned on in the cell. I’m so fucking cold. The only thing he gave me besides the chair was my chenille throw. At least it was freshly washed. Not like that matters now though, since I've got it bunched up underneath me as a makeshift mattress. It fucking sucks.
The lock clicks and the doorknob turns. I quickly get into position. I’m mindful of keeping my hands exactly how he likes them.
My heart flutters in my chest. Last night he didn’t stay. He left me with dinner and watched me eat it in silence. An air of disappointment and distrust surrounded him. I don’t understand why he’s angrier with me now than he was when he put me in here. I feel like I’m failing, and I don’t know what I’m missing. I wish I could go back in time. If I could, I would.
He walks in front of me and stops. I look up at him, hopeful that today he’s in a better mood.
“Good morning, kitten,” he says simply.
“Good morning, Anthony,” I respond.
He puts a bowl down on the floor. It’s oatmeal with strawberries and cream. It’s my favorite. I had a shit-ton of it at my house and I find myself wondering if he went back there. I want to know if he was able to find the earrings, but I don’t ask. I stay in my position and look at the bowl and then back at him. He didn’t feed me dinner last night like he did before, and I didn’t think much of it. But this morning reminds me of the first time we met, of him feeding me.
He shakes his head no and walks to the chair to sit down. “You don’t get my touch in here, kitten. That’s part of your punishment.”
My heart sinks as I pick up the bowl and watch him cross his arms. I feel fucking sick. He’s so fucking angry with me, and I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to take it back. I had to try though, didn’t I? No, I chose to.
“I got your earrings. You won’t get them until you’re back in your room.” His voice has a hard edge.
“Thank you.” My voice cracks, and I have to take a deep breath to steady myself.
“What do they mean to you, kitten?” The use of my pet name brightens my spirit and my chest fills with hope. It’s not lost on me that if he decides not to forgive me, he could kill me. He will kill me. It’s not just that though. I hurt him. I disappointed him. That shouldn’t affect me like this, but it does.
I jump at the opportunity to answer. And at the chance to do something and to talk to someone after spending hours alone and barely sleeping in this room. “They were my mother’s.” I wipe the sleep from my eyes and clear my throat of the knot growing there.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” His words are short and simple, but I can hear the faint compassion in his voice.
“Cancer,” I answer as I stir the oatmeal. I’m hungry, but it’s not nearly as appetizing as it was before. I don’t talk much about her. I don’t like remembering.
“I know,” he says, not moving from his position. A small, sad smile forms on my face. Of course he knows.
“Do you want to play the game, kitten?” he asks.
“Yes,” I immediately answer, and I don’t even care that I sound desperate. I fucking hate that game, but I want him to stay.