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“I like both versions.”
I slide past him into the passenger seat, and he closes my door. A bottle of whisky sits on the console between us. Unscrewing the cap, I smell it. The scent alone has my lips curling downward. It smells like it would turn my stomach.
“What’s with the bottle?”
“I’m preparing myself for everything.” He places his hand on my leg.
Two of his fingers slide through the frayed holes in my jeans. It causes my heart to pump faster and makes me nervous. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, and I’m suddenly conscious of everything. His fingers move against my skin a fraction with each up and down motion. His hand stays there the entire trip. The whole time, I’m analyzing it. Should I place my hand over his? Pretend I don’t notice it? It’s strange to feel out of my league with how to handle the situation.
When we get to the graveyard, trees grow tall next to most graves, making the area look more like a garden than a cemetery.
When we step out, a grave has been dug up. A casket sits where dirt once lay. Beside the grave is a large monument. “That’s the family there.” He points to the large, lavish tomb. “Everyone’s name gets to be engraved on this.”
Romeo takes a swig of his whisky. He looks to be lost in his thoughts, and I give him a moment to be alone. I take a step toward the family tomb and look at the names.
Under Pierre Mancini is Jonny Mancini and five engravings that say Baby. My hand traces their names.
“My father wouldn’t allow her to name them.” Romeo’s voice comes from behind me. I can feel him beside me, even though we’re not touching. “He blamed it on her, since he was able to get his whores pregnant whenever he wanted.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He was a ruthless bastard. Max and I are in the situation we’re in because he didn’t believe in us. And that trickled down….” His words die off.
“Why am I with you guys?” I ask. He’s been letting me in slowly, and this question has been bothering me.
“Because you love me.” He makes it sound like it’s a simple fact, almost like, why wouldn’t I be with him?
“Did I like your father?”
“Fuck no. No one liked him. But he earned respect. That’s how he got to where he was in life.”
Romeo takes another swig of the amber liquid and goes back to the grave, taking a seat on the hard ground.
In silence, I sit next to him. I place my hand over his, our fingers both touching the beat-down grass. We sit like this until he’s downed a quarter of the bottle he brought.
Out of nowhere, Romeo asks, “Do you want your memories back?”
“Why would I, when I get the sweeter version of you?” I tease, trying to play the question off.
His hand pulls from under mine, and his body turns toward me. “Don’t lie to me.”
It’s not a simple question. My heart freezes up when I think about gaining them back. I try to look away from him, but his hand turns my face. His forest eyes search mine. “It scares me.”
He leans in, brushing his lips across mine. He tastes bitter from the liquor. His kiss isn’t gentle but demanding. The taste has my mind going crazy before—flashes of a party. My drinking. Romeo arguing with some girl.
I pull away from the kiss, feeling angry with him. Is that why I drove drunk? Romeo stands up and opens his father’s casket. My head is spinning. Flashes of my fighting with Alfonso emerge. It’s a good thing I’m sitting; otherwise, I would have fallen back on my ass.
I can feel tears wanting to rise, and I try to quash them. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. I don’t want to know. I take my time standing. Both Romeo and I are lost in our own worlds right now. I remember stealing his keys, his car. I remember wanting to hurt. I didn’t care if I died that night. The memories assault me one after another. I killed my sister. Tears I was holding in slip down my cheek. As quickly as I can, I wipe them away. Each breath I take feels like a razor being swallowed. I hide in the car, now wishing my memories away. Romeo tosses the bottle into my lap and places something in the back.
I unscrew the cap, taking a large gulp from what’s remaining. It burns all the way down but hurts less than my memories. In five gulps, I have drank the equivalent of 1 gulp of Romeo’s. The car’s speed picks up. Romeo is watching the road intently.
This time, it’s me who places my hand on his leg. He looks down at it but never at me. Romeo may be my family’s enemy, but in this bubble, we’re each other’s friend. He saved me from crashing his car. A car I knew he loved. I remember his arms wrapped around me, telling me I better live.
I can’t go back. My hand goes to my mouth, hurting from the mayhem I have caused.
Streetlights are a continual stream that pass by my window. We’re going too fast to make them out individually. We fly around a corner, his tires protesting and the smell of rubber infiltrating the car. I refuse to hold on to the handle, willingly accepting my fate.
We stop in front of the Mancini mansion. Romeo jumps out, pulling gloves from his back pocket, and puts them on. I watch in the rearview mirror as he walks to the trunk and pulls something out. The whisky tries to escape my mouth when I realize it’s his father’s head. He puts it on the doorstep on display before coming back.
