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“Z-Zander?” she sounds groggy and confused.
“Shhh. Didn’t want to wake you. Just need to steal your t-shirt.”
“Hmmm?” she’s fighting hard to not doze off. “But… it’s comfy.”
“Of course, it is.” He chuckles, despite the lingering situation at hand. “It’s five million dollars.”
Say what now?
“Five…” she mumbles the number, but she’s slowly leaning against the bunny stuffed doll.
“Dolcezza.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m gonna take it off you, okay?”
“Okay.” She doesn’t seem to mind. “We don’t cuddle anymore.”
Zander smirks at that.
“Miss my warmth, Dolcezza?” he offers while he’s working on stripping her.
“Maybe,” she doesn’t sound sure. “Where’s the music?”
“We’re at home, Sweet Dynamite. You’re in bed.”
“Your bed?”
“Sadly, no,” he hums. “Want to sleep with me tonight?”
“Hmmm.” He’s taking her other arm out, freeing her from the white t-shirt.Leaving her nude in my sheets with the moonlight doing its free labor work to lay its divine rays upon her flesh.
This isn’t the time or place to get hard.
Not with company and the lingering truth that two people perished over whatever this is.
“Yes,” she eventually answers and turns around, her back now facing us. It forces me to notice the vivid tattoo along her back.
There’s only one specific spot that lacks ink, yet there are tiny rings of reddish orange. Multiple circles that are small and yet look gnarly even from this distance.
Cigarette butt burns…
“Okay. Let me do something real quick, and we’ll snuggle and enjoy sleeping in,” Zander offers and reaches for my blanket to pull it over her. “Can I have the bunny?”
“No,” she mutters stubbornly and seems to hug the stuffed creature. “My bunny. Mine… mine…” she begins a ‘mine’ tangent but trails off while her breathing seems to slow.
Despite it, Zander reaches over to press a light kiss on her lips.
“I’ll be back, Dolcezza.”
She stirs and mutters something, but she’s still moments later, the only movement being her chest as she breathes in and out.
When Zander moves away from the bed, we take the cue to leave the room. Closing the door enough that there’s only a creased space, the four of us move down the hall until we’re in Iva’s room.
Aside from the disheveled look we contributed to, it doesn’t look like anything was tampered with.
“Who’s Diesel?” Ares repeats.
