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“You all set?” he asked as I came back through.
“All set,” I said, going to the stairs.
“So you’re just sending me out like an errand boy, not even going to hang around down here and make small talk?”
“No thanks,” I said. “I’ve had my fill of that already.”
I headed upstairs and closed my door, locking it with a click.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart racing.
Maybe this really was a bad idea. As I stared at the window and waited, my entire body vibrating with every second that passed, I wondered if I should just forget about the whole plan. I could make lunch when he got home, maybe even take him up on an exercise video.
It could be fun. And he didn’t seem so bad, aside from manhandling me like a dickhead.
I took a sharp breath, shook my head.
No, that was just fear talking. Fear was going to keep me stuck in this place. The mafia banked on fear, needed me afraid to keep me complacent.
I wasn’t going to stick around and let them have their way.
After ten minutes, I heard the door open and shut. I heard his footsteps on the stoop and ran to the window. I saw him head down the sidewalk and disappear from view.
I stood there and I knew I had a choice. I could stay, find out what my uncle had in store for me. I could see this through.
Or I could take my chance and figure this out on my own.
“Come on,” I whispered to myself. “Be better.”
I walked to my duffel bag, rooted through my clothes, found an old pair of jeans. I shoved my hands in the back pocket and plucked out a twenty-dollar bill. I found it last night when I went through my clothes, and kept it tucked in there just in case I’d need it.
I put the twenty in my pocket, changed into a new black shirt and jean shorts, then headed downstairs. He really was gone, and the room felt empty and strange without him.
I pushed open the door, lingered on the stoop. I didn’t have to do this.
But no, I had to, and I knew it.
I walked out, down the steps, and left the front door open.
Screw them. Damn them to hell. I hoped someone came in and robbed them, just like they stole me away.
I hurried down the sidewalk, away from where Luca had gone. I turned left at the first corner and kept my head up, looking for a cab. I had to march fast to a main street with lots of cars before I found one, but I managed to flag it down and hop in the back.
I gave the guy the address and did my best to ignore the stupid, annoying little TV screen that played ads the whole time. The guy talked on his phone as he drove, a Bluetooth headset shoved in his ear, and I wondered who was spending all day on the phone with him.
Probably some other cabbie. I pictured two old cabbies in love with each other, their cabs parking nose to nose at the end of a long day. They’d get out, run to each other, embrace, kiss, and take off their Bluetooth headsets in unison.
Beautiful love story.
He dropped me off in front of the house. I gave him the twenty, let him keep three, and got ten back. An expensive trip, but I lived on the other side of the city, and besides, I didn’t care about the cash at the moment.
I got out, feet on the familiar sidewalk, and breathed the familiar neighborhood air.
It smelled just like it always smells in the city, moldy and grungy and perfect.
I walked to my stoop, hopped up, entered the code to buzz in through the front door. I pulled my house key from my back pocket, unlocked the inner door, and walked to the staircase.
My apartment was on the second floor, straight ahead. I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and stared at the space.
My things were thrown all over.
The couch was torn apart like someone took a knife to it. Plates, dishes, and glasses were all smashed in the kitchen, the cabinets left open, the refrigerator door hanging by a single hinge, the light burned out, the smell of rotten food wafting in through the air. The carpets looked like someone dragged their muddy boots all over, and my heart began to race as I stepped inside.
My TV was smashed. The coffee table was split and there were cigarette burns on the top of it. The windows were open and a little breeze came through as I turned from the mess and walked to my bedroom.
Clothes were thrown everywhere. The mattress was torn off the frame. My nightstands were toppled, my bureau ransacked, the clock smashed. All the paintings I had on the walls, all my family pictures of me and my mother, they were all broken and twisted and left on the floor.
