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I curl into a ball and sob. I sob so hard I think my jaw’s going to fall off. The cut’s a horrible, painful gash in my face, and Zita’s words sink deep into my body.
Nobody cares.
I’m alone, all alone. Maxim’s gone. My father’s losing his mind. Enzo and Santo and Franco are too busy dealing with their own problems to help me.
I’m alone and Zita’s going to kill me, piece by piece.
I cry until I can’t anymore, until the sour puke taste in the back of my throat gets too awful to ignore, and crawl off to find my cleaning supplies.
Chapter25
Maxim
The vodka burns on the way down. I like the warmth that spreads through my limbs. I like the numbness that follows even better.
I lean my elbows on the dark, grimy bar and gesture for another. The bartender’s a quiet old guy that doesn’t ask questions and keeps them coming. I like him a lot. He’s got sad eyes and no hair.
“To killing the pain,” I say, holding up my drink.
He shrugs and wipes a glass and watches a baseball game on TV.
It’s been nine days since I lost Siena. I’ve been sober for a grand total of a few hours, mostly in the mornings. But that doesn’t last long. I’ve got a mountain of vodka bottles beneath my bed, and I suspect I’ll die beneath their bulk someday soon.
This place is a real dive. There’s cigarette smoke in the air like a haze even though smoking indoors hasn’t been legal in years. I don’t mind it at all. I welcome the extra poison in my body. Regulars sit in small groups and pound back beers—real gritty guys, landscapers and construction workers, men with dirty, callused hands and a reason to get hammered after a long day of exhausting physical labor. I don’t fit in with them, but that’s the point.
I catch the eye of a particularly drunk guy. He’s got a thick beard, a fleshy face, and a big gut. He’s with a few buddies and they’re attacking a pitcher of cheap beer like its water. He looks back and frowns a few times, and I keep on staring at him as I sip my fourth or fifth double vodka. I’m drunk, but I’m not blackout wasted—yet. I’m composed when he finally comes over.
“What the fuck do you keep staring at me for?” he asks as he leans against the bar. He flags down the bartender and asks for another pitcher as he glances at me sideways.
“You look like you got a good right hook.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I’m not interested in a fight, man. So just leave me alone.”
“I’ll pay you fifty bucks to punch me in the face.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Which I have.
“I’m not getting involved in your weird sexual fantasy.”
“A hundred. Punch me in the face as hard as you can. Two hundred if you can knock me out. Three hundred if you keep going until I bleed.”
“You’re not joking.”
“Four hundred. Knock out a tooth.” I grin at him. Showing my teeth.
The bartender returns with his pitcher. The guy takes it and leaves some cash.
“You’re fucking insane. Stop looking at me.” He walks away, shaking his head.
I sigh and gesture for another vodka. The guys last night were more accommodating. They negotiated up to a thousand and they beat the shit out of me with some reasonable enthusiasm. I’m still bruised, but I’m not hurt enough. The pain was only temporary. It didn’t clear me for very long, and I already crave more.
Siena’s face flashes through my brain. I grimace and drink. This is why I pay people to beat my ass. Every time I stop and let my mind wander, she comes back, floating like a ghost. Haunting me, killing me. Showing me what I can’t have, what I’ll never have.
Real peace. Real happiness.
I haven’t worked in days. I don’t do much more than drink and pay people to hurt me. Feliks and Jasha both tried to talk some sense into me, but that didn’t work. Galina begged me to stop. Emmie cried and sat on my bed and refused to leave me alone until I finally gave up trying to convince her to go away and went out and got hammered and let three plumbers kick me in the ribs until I spit blood.
Siena bending over in my bathroom as she pulls on a pair of panties and giving me that cute shy smile.
